


Like Wings of a Demon

by AvaCelt



Category: EXO (Band), Korean Drama, 무사 백동수 | Warrior Baek Dong Soo
Genre: Cross-Over AU, Gore, Horror, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-19 09:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 67,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AvaCelt/pseuds/AvaCelt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re humans by function, demons by heart. But remorse is never far when the very strings of their remaining humanity are pulled together to form bonds. Bonds they want to keep- bonds they want never to break. INCOMPLETE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic started late last year and has been ongoing since. It was imported from my old Tumblr and will now continue and finish here. I want to thank everyone who's been following it since, and newcomers as well. Thank you. 
> 
> And yeah. It's definitely being finished. Bear with me. OTL
> 
> [Edit](http://theoryofthevanquished.tumblr.com/post/55444616234/theyre-humans-by-function-demons-by-heart-but) by [Monoire](http://monoire20.tumblr.com/).

Brown eyes sweep over the group.

Six stand, poised and ready, their blades drawn and their shurikens clasped tightly between their index and middle fingers. The youngest of the group, a mere girl, whispers furiously to a young man to her left. He replies with a snide smirk.

The darkness moves swiftly. He, with the deep, dark eyes.

The girl squeaks, but her sword bares naked and in tune with her stance. Her comrades strengthen their stances and begin circling, alert and prepared. A young man, light-skinned and pretty, far too pretty to be involved in the likes of a group of court soldiers, grips his sword the lightest.

A shadow of a being flits near the fair-skinned one.

A stocky young man with the small hands feels the sudden movement and barks for his comrades to _focus_. The pretty one doesn’t tighten his hold on his sword- but a grimace does touch his lips. A fleeting, irascible look of utter loathing.

There’s a light rustle, and the snide one’s eyes enlarge ten fold. A presence hovers above them and the girl takes one hint and slices whatever is in the air. No one sees the dark presence creep closer.

The remaining two men look up and see two halves of a leaf gently descend upon them. The snide-smirking solider releases the breath he’s been holding, and the girl curses under her breath. The circle continues to move, but now, there’s an accountable aura of weariness hovering over them. The one with the small hands barks another order, but the two oldest men, the quietest and most observant of the six, signal for the man to hush. And they all stop moving.

A rustle in the moonless night. A howl in the nearby forest. In the middle of a wheat field with nothing but the blades and small objects in their possession and the clothes on their back. The two oldest men tell them to prepare themselves. It’s coming. But the young man, with the pouty lips and the haughty smile opens his mouth to say that there’s nothing there. The night is moonless. No light to lead anyo-

When the black-eyed demon strikes, all becomes silent.

Brown eyes gaze over the six as the massacre begins.

*******

They’re not dead, but even the sharpest of medics would be appalled by the amount of carnage.

“You left the irritable one for last. Why?”

A small chuckle. The cold wind rustles their clothes. A chill sets in and the brown eyed man takes a deep breath before fixating his eyes on the unconscious soldiers once more.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The latter doesn’t chuckle again. Instead, the lithe, swift body glides towards him.

“You shouldn’t be asking any questions,” he whispers kindly in his ear. “You’re supposed to assess the situation and make a decision.”

The brown eyed male wrinkles his nose. “You’ve rendered these soldiers useless. You’re an assassin. Your job is to kill- not to spread suffering.”

He feels a smile break out on the other’s lips. “They told me you followed the philosophies of the old. Kill to free, not to burden. Destroy to allow new life, not to hinder the living.”

“And you’re as brutish as they claim you are- committing acts fit for a street thief.” A howl this time, and the beady eyed man, a few inches taller than him, blocks his sight of the fallen soldiers.

“It pains me to hear that you think of me in such an appalling way,” he says sincerely, voice as sweet as honeyed milk. “We have … our differences in how we do our work, but the idea remains to this day, does not? You kill. You kill to rid; I decimate. I decimate to make them understand. But should it boil down to the very threads, then you are the murderer here, not I.”

He’s unfazed. “So you’ve never killed? Am I supposed to believe that?” Milky white hands find themselves on the brown eyed man’s shoulders.

“You are, for it is the only choice you have. Surely the rumors have spoken enough to tell you that I take no souls, regardless of the situation. That’s _your_ job.”

“They say you’re a monster.” He clips back.

The sickeningly sweet smile broadens. “And they say you were born one.” The brown eyed man doesn’t expect to hear that. He feels a nerve begin to tighten.

“I was made the way I am now. You- they say you were born on the night of an evil moon. And gods, have you kept true to the description.” Another chuckle escapes his lips, as genuine as the one before,

The brown eyed male doesn’t deny it. “I refuse your offer.” He turns away, ready to alert his underlings to transport the injured soldiers to the nearest medical facility and then promptly disappear. But a strong hand grabs his arm. He feels himself begin to freeze over. Turning his head back, he locks eyes with a pair of obsidian orbs housed in slanted pits.

“You would deny me? I’ve admired your ability to reap souls for many years now. Though we are only months apart, I feel as if you’ve done more in our world than I could ever hope to achieve. You would deny a fellow demon his right to continue the practices of our ancestors?”

A frown creases his lips. “I am a bastard of the assassins. I have no claim to the thrones of the old gods. You’ve come to the wrong place.”

“But I’ve come to the right place. I was born to priests. Surely, we’re both bastards to our kind.”

“I decline.” He repeats. “You may let go and disappear. Find another. Finish your mission and return to your hovel.”

But the grip on his arm tightens. “You can end their suffering. The girl. She’ll never be able to walk again. The fair-skinned one will have lost his mind by the month’s end. The two older ones have lost their eyes for good. The worrisome one will be plagued with nightmares for the rest of his nights and will take his own life soon. The arrogant fool- he’ll never speak again. Not when there’s no tongue to aid him.”

He blinks.

“Tell me, my fellow bastard. You kill to free souls. Free _them_. They’ll never be the same again. Their burdens will be their death. Why leave them to suicide when you can do our ancestors proud and take and free their souls.”

“They’re names weren’t written in blood.”

“But they were. The names of the entire kingdom of Joseon has been bathed in blood since you killed Sado. _Finish the job_.”

He crinkles his nose again. “Leave before I kill you.” His voice is crisp, final.

“The dead don’t die twice.” The figure lets go of his arm and steps aside. “You may save their lives today, but tomorrow, I will do the same to their king. Their queen consort. Their dowager queen. The queen consort’s younger brother. The king’s bodyguards. His mentors. His friends. The queen consorts ladies-in-waiting, her bodyguards, the dowager queen’s lover. And then, the rest. In the end, all that will remain are broken men and women of a once wondrous kingdom. They will have lost their respect- their courage, their unity, their _minds_.”

An inkling of fear touches the brown eyed man’s very soul. He doesn’t answer the older man. The tall, thin man with the pitch black eyes and thinly veiled muscles on his arms, thighs, and calves.

“And then the requests will come. Written in blood, offering you jewels and coins from every corner of the earth, just for you to go and end their misery. You will accept then, when everything is said and done. The closer of our kind.”

“I will,” he enunciates, his deep brown eyes falling to the shivering grass below.

“A shame,” the other says softly. “It hurts for me to see us end this way. We could have done this together.”

“Leave,” he repeats once more. The eyeless men are whimpering, beginning to wake from their painful slumber.

And so he does.

The lithe man flits away with the darkness. He signals his underlings to appear, and the six, mangled bodies are moved to clinics, post haste. He makes sure they’re all secured and doctors are present before having his men and women disappear before melding with the shadows himself.

Shadows of a life left behind begin to creep into his present thoughts. He sees a waterfall. He’s been there multiple times before- bathed in it, washed his clothes there. He remembers dancing in it once, when the alcohol was too heavy and his tolerance wasn’t high enough. A face etches itself into his eyes; dusky skin with chapped lips, a stocky build and a kind expression. Wrapped together in a face that held gentleness, a loving heart, a soothing soul. Light brown eyes the color of mud beneath the waters. Beautiful.

And when the brown eyed man edges near the forest bordering the wheat field, returning to the site of the carnage once more, he sees the thin assassin sitting on a thin branch on the verge of breaking to bits. The steel in his chest shatters.

“I said leave.” He snaps. He shouldn’t, but he does.

“A depressing request, yes, but a thoughtful one indeed. I cannot, however. Until I finish my mission, I am here just as you are here.”

“… You will destroy all those they want you to destroy.”

The assassin shifts his weight and the branch whines. “I don’t destroy. I decimate. I make them understand the weight of their crimes. I remind them of their mortality. No. I don’t destroy. I can _not_ destroy.”

“They will all fall, one by one, at your hands. Even the innocents.”

The assassin’s smile returns softly. But it doesn’t widen with the pert length of his face like before. It remains idle- almost fleeting. “I don’t take innocents. Children will be children. But those who promise themselves to the dark arts are bound to pay the price. Take the girl, for example. Her first kill was a graverobber. She’s forgotten how it feels to be a monster, cloaking her sin with the face that she was promoted to court soldier. Young, beautiful, strong. I reminded her that she was a monster- she _is_ a monster. The untainted will remain untouched. But the ones that have played the game between life and death- they will pay the price.”

“Whatever bred the evil in you should count itself lucky,” the brown eyed man says quietly, as if speaking to the wind.

But the words drift to his ears anyway. “And whatever bred the hatred in you-” He doesn’t finish. The lithe body, strong and sinewy, gazes into the moonless night and watches as night birds flutter about in the cold air.

“… Let one go. One, and I will forever be in your debt.”

The branch whines again. “They said you were still human in some ways.”

“Do it and I accept your offer.” The inkling in the brown eyed man’s chest becomes a spot. Then a stain. Then a deep, foreboding abyss coated in fear.

“Only if you agree to become what you truly are. We are creatures of the night. I will leave your warrior be if you agree to become the monster they say you are.”

“I will,” he claims without thinking. He will never think thrice- not when it comes to _him_. Once, he let his assassin’s side speak. Twice, he let his second-in-command speak. Thrice, his heart prevailed. Whatever was left of it, it always won in the end.

The assassin jumps from the branch and lands cleanly on his feet. They meet each other halfway, towards the forest and towards the wheat field. A dark, lifeless spot in between. Only the vermin and birds of the darkness can witness their unholy union.

“For him- you are willing to become one with me?”

The brown eyed man swallows his humanity. “For him, I will allow you to strike me down.”

The latter’s smile is long gone. He bites into his thumb, and the brown eyed man follow. They mix blood and then each produce a simple blade from their respective collections. They wipe the blood on the blades and then present them to each other. The brown eyed man pockets the new blade in his breast while lithely built assassin places his into a strap tightened at his thigh.

“Just for him?” The man asks again.

The brown eyed man breathes deeply. “For him.”

“Then the deal is struck. You will have to complete this mission with me, or by law your guild will have to behead you as tribute for breaking this bond.”

The shattered steel reforms. “We are blood brothers now. And a brother would never break his promise- as long as the other keeps his.”

They nod and bow to each other. The night is still fresh, the grass below swaying with the cold wind. The bloodstained grass surrounding them will soon be cleaned away by the early morning rain.

“The night is cold and full of monsters. Monsters like us,” says the Chinese assassin.

“Like us,” replies the Sky Lord.

“What do they call you in the daylight when you hide your true self?” The taller man speaks curiously.

The brown eyed man’s lips part slightly. He hasn’t used his old name in years. They know him as the Sky Lord now. The dark world’s true king. But he knows the older man has knowledge of the old name, but it is as if they’ve begun afresh. They are brothers bound in blood now. The cuts on their fingers are raw evidence, the blades they hold the offerings of camaraderie. It is as if they’re meeting for the very first time.

“Yeo… Woon. It was Yeo Woon.”

“They call me Ifrit in the night.”

“And you are what by day?” He already knew. The name was very simple. A common surname, an average first name. But it made the man… real. A human being, like him, during the day.

Another smile flickers on his face but fades away soon. “The priests didn’t give me a name, but my mother did.”

The Sky Lord nods. “Your mother loved you enough to name you.”

He nods. “She did.”

“What was it.”

They gaze at the sky together. Lightless- an endless abyss of misery and beauty.

“Huang Zi Tao. She named me Huang Zi Tao.”

And they sit, silently, as the earth bears onto them as the sun does the sky.

*******


	2. Prologue

**Jong Dae**

“ _Get a hold of the vice-guards! HURRY!”_

He rubs his eyes and takes a moment to register the time. Couldn’t be more than three in the morning, could it? Maybe a little later? He rubs his stomach, still sore from the beating his hyung gave him earlier. He feels muscles contract and bones whine as he gets up, wincing in pain as his body tells him to lay back down.

When he sticks his head out of his chambers, he instantly recoils. Two guards stand primly to the sides of the entrance. A third helps him up as he attempts to regain some composure.

“What… what’s going on? What are you all doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be guarding the East Gate?”

The female guard, about thirty, is his own personal bodyguard. But for the past few nights, she’s been touring the East Gate along with the other personal guards and leaving the court nobles under the protection of one set of soldiers instead of an individual guard per noble. Jong Dae peers out of the entrance and sees the grim faced men again and winces. His one guard jumped to three within the few hours he was asleep, and he still doesn’t know what to make of it.

“There’s been an attack, my lord. We’ve awoken the court officials and alerted the King’s guards. Every noble after is getting two guards placed in front of his or her doors until the situation is under control. You must not leave these quarters. Do you understand?”

He may have been weak of body, but he wasn’t weak of mind. He nods submissively and allows the woman to bring him back to his futon. He crawls underneath the covers and stays put until he sees her leave the room and lock the door tightly behind her. He follows her shadow as she leaves the entrance and turns the corner. Once she’s out of sight, he scrambles out from underneath the cloth and softly patters over to the rice paper flaps covering the slitted windows in the room.

Looking out he sees more people running about. Most of them he knew. They were all soldiers that were usually guarding each of the palace gates at night, except the North, which was guarded by the Old Mister and his sentries. He sees the the Finance Minister, Yang Cho Rip, dressed in peasant rags instead of his nobleman robes. He’s got a sword brandished and he’s barking words in the softest tone possible.

If that isn’t shocking enough, he sees another man, an old butcher who visits the palace too often and is far too close to the king and his guards for any other noble’s liking, is also present. Except he isn’t holding a sword- two meat cleavers are in his hands, joined by a strip of cloth at the ends. Yang Cho Rip yells something. Jong Dae can’t make out the words, but eight court soldiers and the butcher line up in front of him. He sees the man’s lips move and then they’re all filing out of the square and away from Jong Dae’s sight.

But even  _that’s_  not as astounding as when he sees four medic-guards come trudging in, two pairs carrying cots with unconscious bodies laying on them. He raises his head just a little to get a better look.

Probably the worst decision of his life when he realizes the mutilated bodies aren’t just  _any_ one. It’s his brother, Min Seok, lying there looking lifeless with a mangled leg and the queen’s cousin, Yixing, with both of his cheeks ripped apart.

*******

**Yeo Woon**

“My Lord… you didn’t.”

But he did. And at the moment, he didn’t regret it.

“Our guest rooms are always prepared, what with envoys always coming and going,” he drawls, ignoring the comment. “Now we only need to take out two and make them permanent sleeping quarters for my brother and his brother.”

Gu Hyang purses her lips into a thin line. “My Lord, I ask again. Please tell me… you didn’t.”

Oh, but he did. The brown garbed youth with the dark skin and amber eyes stifles a cough. But his second in command and his third are the least of his worries.

The Earth Lord has a look of utter repulsion etched on her face.

“But he did.” She spits, eyes worn and baggy after a night of cutting down two troupes of gun smugglers. “He did and he didn’t even  _think_  to bring anyone with him. It’s as if he thinks that’s a kid running around, throwing knives and stabbing people. He’s a  _demon_. One that could have easily wiped the floor with his face!”

Yeo Woon doesn’t quite believe that, and he so totally  _did_  bring people with him, just like the China-men brought his brother. So, instead of correcting the cantankerous woman, he pouts and scratches a stray spot on his head. “And prayer quarters for my brother, please, Gu Hyang-sshi. He’s quite in tune with his religious side.”

And with that, he nods his head to the thirty-five year old woman and the brown garbed youth, who promptly patter out of the throne room. And then he himself dives out of the way before Hwang Jin Ju, his darling partner-in-crime, embeds an arrow into his back.

*******

**Zi Tao**

His jian is bloodied, so the first thing he asks the older woman is where the washing pond is. She nods and tells him she will take them there momentarily, as soon as she leads him to his and his brother’s quarters and introduces him to their guide.

The guide slinks in quietly, young, with dark skin and dressed entirely in brown cloth. He stands two feet behind the shorter woman with his head slightly bowed and eyes staring into nothingness. Most definitely  _not_  like the rest of Heuksa Chorong with its assassins dressed in black ninja outfits emblazoned with their guild’s logo, Zi Tao notes as the woman gives him a tour of the spacious chamber with two Western beds and a myriad of other perks. Occasionally, you’d find two or three wearing red, green, or purples jewels on their waists to signal their position within the ranks of their dark kingdom. But the youth is dressed in brown, and the clothes were not a ninja or an assassin’s choice of garb, bland color aside.

But then again, the woman is dressed beautifully in a blue skirt and pink and red jacket, her hair bun pinned neatly back with a dark blue binyeo. Her hands are clasped pleasantly at the front, her arms hidden underneath the sleeves of her jacket. Her lips are tinted with rouge that looks as fresh as the perfume that lingers in the air around her.

But these are assassins, Huang Zi Tao reminds himself as they finally exit the large room and amble towards the front gate of the pagoda. And they’re as ethereally and fatally eccentric as their lord king who’s baffled Zi Tao all the years he’s traveled in the Luliang and Wuyi mountain ranges and then to the Arabian desert where he gained his namesake, Ifrit. Still- he wished to take one of her hands and kiss the palm as a gesture of both respect and awe of her undeniable beauty.

His attempt at romance falls deathly ill when he hears a familiar sound perk his ears.

“Would this be Heuksa Chorong?” A voice as sweet as sugarcane and fluid as plum wine. The brown garbed man is alert, and the woman even more so as an aura of menace engulfs her being.

“Would this be your brother, Huang Zi Tao-sshi?” She asks pleasantly, knives bearing underneath every word.

He lets a babyish smile touch his lips and bows respectfully. “Ye, Gu Hyang-sshi.”

The smiling man looks no more than twenty, but the depth in his eyes gives away his thirty-one years. Most of his hair is pulled back and braided down his back, but bangs manage to shade one of his amber orbs. The hair is a sickening color of orange, as if bleached in the midday sun and then coated with color from herbs and spices.

But his smile. His smile seems to light up the otherwise very, very dark gate entrance to the pagoda.

“Sorry for being late. I had to pick up a few things.”

The woman nods understandingly, at which Zi Tao chuckles, and the brown garbed man clicks open the lock and swings the gate open for the man to enter. He does, carrying a large bag as well as a very tall and pointy Qiang. The brown garbed man offers to carry the bag, and the newcomer has no problem obliging.

“Oh! What a nice young man!” He turns to the woman. “You must be the King’s second-in-command.” He curtsies to the woman and she bows back in return.

“Gege, be courteous,” Zi Tao warns.

Another blinding smile.

“Correct. I haven’t even introduced myself yet. ” Zi Tao rolls his eyes in time to see the older man bow to the woman and the brown garbed man again. But then he clasps one of the woman’s hands and gets down on both knees before kissing her knuckles in reverence. Zi Tao gulps.

“I have much to learn from you, Gu Hyang-sshi. I apologize for my delay and for leaving you here with Tao-er.” His teeth are pearled, but even Zi Tao can notice the faintest hint of sharply fined canines in behind his upper lip.

He rises and gives another bow to the man carrying the bag, all the while keeping his spear at arm’s length.

Zi Tao has an urge to rub his temples. “Gege,” he almost snaps. “Your  _name_.”

Well, it isn’t as if the brown garbed man and the woman don’t know it. They do. Every practitioner of the dark arts knows it. Not just because it’s a special name, because it’s not. By night, he’s the Emerald Snake that stalks the most corrupt of the warlords in the Qing empire. When he’s not ruining their lives by order of the emperor, he stalks the emperor  _himself_. And his sons. His pretty, easily impressed sons with their idiotic smiles and, even more so, idiotic behavior. By day, though, he’s something simpler.

The baby face blinks, and his smile just gets bigger.

Gu Hyang and the other man are not impressed.

Zi Tao should have considered his life and his choices earlier.

The newcomer turns back to the woman and guide. He bows once more. It’s tiresome, by the looks of the Heuksa Chorong members as they bow as well in response. But this time, their plight doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Thank you for lending us your home. We hope to be of great use to you.”

“And it is out pleasure to provide a home for you, sunbaenim.” The woman replies with good grace.

His mouth open. “No, no! Not at all. Not sunbaenim, Gu Hyang-sshi. Preposterous!”

Gu Hyang raises her eyebrows and chuckles in return.

“Luhan. Call me Luhan, Gu Hyang-sshi.”

Another bow and they can finally enter the pagoda. Zi Tao counts his good graces that his gege doesn’t make a  _total_  fool of himself. But he’s found himself an equal, he thinks. The woman, albeit irked, is impressed. The smile of the Emerald Snake can do that.

The conversation and theatrics don’t go unnoticed by the Sky Lord, who watches quietly from a shaded cove high on the pagoda.

And the games begin.

*******

**Yi Fan**

The king’s brother-in-law, flustered and angry, pushes through the guards.

“Wu Yi Fan! Get back to your chamber!”

It’s dawn, and guards are still poised by every nobleman’s quarters, ready to strike imposters. But they failed at their most basic duty when they lost to Wu Yi Fan as he rendered them useless with quick jabs to the neck, knees, and shoulders.

“Hyung,” he hears a frightened voice as fingers tug at his light green sleeping robes.

He’s broken out Jong Dae as well, and the young man looks as badly shaken as his sister did when he witnessed guards lead her out of her chambers. It wasn’t as if he was asleep to begin with, but the usual, eerie silence of the royal square was broken when the soft patter of the guards broke Yi Fan from his scrolls and led him to his window. There, three guards knocked thrice on the king’s door with the Trio coming out, followed by the queen consort. He couldn’t hear the words of the conversation, but the look on his jiejie’s face was enough to stop his own heart.

And then, as he receded back to his blankets, shadows of strong, burly men came into place as they stood on the sides of the entrance to his chambers. He gave it another five minutes before slinking to his window again and looking as the the square emptied out. Silence. The Trio disappeared. His sister disappeared. The guards disappeared, except the ones no stationed in front of his door.

He’d always been a rebellious one, so it didn’t take him long to knock out all the guards and hurry to his comrades chambers.

Yixing’s was empty.

He parried on to Min Seok’s. His too was devoid of any human being.

Finally, he ran to Jong Dae’s, which was guarded by two men that were easily disposed of. Already the boy was shaken, so a few words of “medic,” “hurry,” “oh god,” were enough to send them both running towards the doctor’s chambers.

And here they were, flustered and heaving, the queen consort glaring daggers into Yi Fan as tears glistened in her eyes.

“Wu Yi Fan,” she croaks again. “Get back to your chambers. Oh Jong Dae! Go before your lord cousin gets here!”

Jong Dae’s cousin, the king, is no where in the room. But then again, neither is the trio. It’s bad, Wu Fan realizes. This is bad.

“What are you hiding?”

The woman, albeit older than the man, catches her voice in her throat. Her voice is broken, but his? His is deathly calm, shaved to a dangerous point. His eyes narrow, a fire burning beneath the light brown orbs.

She doesn’t bother and slumps back against one of the ladies-in-waiting instead. There, she breaks into sobs while handkerchiefs and soothing words begin to pass around.

“Useless,” he cuts in sharply. A thick gray sheet divides the mourners from the injured. He spies it in the back and pushes through the guards to get to the back. He doesn’t ask twice when he shoves the cloth aside and enters the other side with Jong Dae stumbling in after him.

It’s not the heavy stench of blood that causes his knees to buckle. Far from it. The smell was present before when he entered this side. No, it isn’t the blood, or the bloodied rags, or even the whimpering and shaking of one Jong Dae who’s collapsed next to his brother’s ravaged form lying limply underneath the hands of able surgeons attempting to save his brutalized leg. No, it’s not because of the smell of urine permeating the air, or the stench of herbs and medicines. No.

It’s because Oh Min Seok is completely and utterly out of this world’s stream of consciousness. He doesn’t make a peep as bones are cracked and whipped back into place while needles and thread stitch cuts on his chest and arm. His ankle is broken, turned a sickening one hundred and eighty degrees. His face, however, remains untouched.

Yixing is another story. His arms and legs are left alone, but his hands have been mauled. Fingers broken, palms with gouges in them, nails torn off their places. But his face is different. Both of his cheeks have a long cut on them. He watches as Ji Sun’s able hands swiftly and efficiently stitch the skin, as to staunch the bleeding. But the damage is done. His dimples have disappeared, and all that’s left is flushed skin with bloodied sides held together by rough thread.

Vomit tickles the back of Yi Fan’s throat. Jong Dae’s beaten him to it and lays unconscious in his own filth, his hand still clasping his brother’s.

But Yixing is alone. Yixing, his cousin, is alone and dead to the world for now. Ji Sun finishes her last stitches before allowing the other medics to place herbs on his skin before wrapping his head in bandages. Wu Fan goes to touch his limp and destroyed hand but cannot.

Instead, something evil awakes inside of him.

*******

**Cho Rip**

“All we found was a bloodied arena in the fields, but no footprints.”

“We checked the forest’s first acre. Nothing.”

“No dropped weapons, no strips of cloth. It was meticulously done.”

“And quickly.”

The Finance Minister, Yang Cho Rip, rubs his temples. His underlings blink. “Anything from the locals?”

“Collective information states that they saw demons move quickly. They saw something being dragged in, but pinned the blame on ghosts because they could not decipher who was carrying what into the building.”

“So they blamed demons?” The man wants to bang his head against the nearest wall.

“They said only they are capable of moving that fast and that efficiently.”

Cho Rip doesn’t believe it for one second. Besides monsters out of folklore, he know only one other  _thing_  that can get away with this kind of carnage.

“… Heuksa Chorong. What of them?”

One of the underlings clears his throat. “The Earth Lord was seen leading a group of seven to a river-side port. There she reportedly slayed a band of smugglers and had her men and women return the goods to their original owners. They burned the bodies with their boat and set it afloat. It was seen sinking into the depths by one of the court spies.

Damn Jin Ju and her efficiency. “And Yeo Woon? What of him?” For that, no one had any words. “Where was Yeo Woon?” He asks again, this time a bit sharply.

“We have yet to decipher the location of Heuksa Chorong. The assassin we caught last month bit his own tongue before we could get any answers out of him. It may well be that the Sky Lord was there at the time of the slaying.”

Eight years and the castle of the guild still remained a mystery to Joseon’s king. Only Kwang Taek knew where it was, besides the members themselves, and he’d been dead for years.

“Anything else?”

They shook their heads and he dismisses them on the spot. Left alone, Yang Cho Rip tilts his head up and gazes at the dark, red sun as it begins to shed its raw light.

It’s been eight years since they’ve last seen each other. Eight years since the former Earth and Sky lords were murdered and Yeo Woon and Jin Ju took over. Eight years since the old gang broke into shambles, as two went off to be killers, four to be protectors, and one into the dark recesses of the mountains where he painted pictures and made sure tribes were in their place and paid their annual tribute to their king.

But it was time for them to meet again, he decides, because atrocities like this took place only when their old group was involved, one way or another. It had to be an assassin. Perhaps not from Heuksa Chorong, but an assassin nonetheless. Maybe from the dark coves of Jeju Island, maybe from the Qing Empire itself. The land was known for its homicidal pact with its people, so it made sense if a warlord had sent a killer overseas to take out the Chinese nobles residing in the Joseon palace.

A woman came trailing up to him, wiping her hands with blue cloth.

“Beo Jin’s spine was severed at a point where her legs will never work again. Sun Chil and Pak Do had their eyes plucked out and their arms broken. Ga Jun’s tongue has been torn out as and his ribs broken.”

“But the court doesn’t care for them,” he adds morosely.

Ji Sun looks down at the brown earth, the cloth still cleaning the blood off her nails. “Young lords Yixing and Min Seok made the grave mistake of joining the night guards on their routine trip to the wheat fields. The China-man has had his cheeks ripped into a hideous smile. Min Seok-sshi’s leg has been badly disfigured.”

Cho Rip takes a deep breath. “How did this happen? One day, they’re all sitting in the king’s quarters and feasting, and the next, they’re lying bandaged and near death.”

Ji Sun put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “They were children before. Now they’re one of us. Old, wise, bruised.”

“… Do you think it was Yeo Woon?”

Ji Sun shakes her head. “He kills effortlessly. This is the work of a monster. The fact that they were still alive assures me that it cannot be him, never mind the difference in sword stroke.”

“Will they live?” He asks hesitantly. “Our four, at least. Ga Jun and Beo Jin?”

“They will all live. Their injuries weren’t fatal. They were meant to humiliate them… and teach them a lesson. The injuries inflicted are poetic, but not of the reams Yeo Woon keeps with him.”

“So we’ve got a psychotic bastard on the loose who’s tearing out tongues and ripping up cheeks. And it’s not the _usual_ assassin. We won’t be able to do this alone.”

She removes her hand and places them on her lap before settling down on the earth. Cho Rip follows.

“Then send word for him.”

He bites back a yelp. “You… you would want that?”

She looks at the pecking birds fluttering above. “He would want to. He… he would despise us if we kept it from him. Sooner or later he will find out. Should it be sooner, he will return to us as our friend. Later, and he will loathe us for our lies.”

“Do you think he can do it? He could never beat Un-ah, and this one seems beyond Un-ah’s level- poetics included.”

She holds back tears. “If Yeo Woon knows what’s best for him, he’ll stay out of this and continue his dealings with the Northern and Eastern guilds and whatever it is that they do.”

He takes a deep breath. “I’ll have an audience with the king and send word post haste.”

They hear the guards calling them both to the King’s chambers. They nod and pick themselves up before following the pageboy.

When they enter his room, Cho Rip notes how pale and unforgiving the man’s face and eyes are.

“Should we?” He asks once, and only once.

Cho Rip nods and then turns to one of the royal writers sitting patiently next to the king. For the slightest of seconds, his voice catches in his throat as he recalls  _why_ their childhood group had disintegrated years before. But Ji Sun’s eyes are firm and unrelenting, and the Trio stare at him intently as they wait for him to instruct the writer. Cho Rip guesses that had this been a different world and a different time, there wouldn’t be any need to send word for the man at all. He’d show up magically, like he always did, promising to protect his loved ones and willing to die for those he believed deserved to live more than he did. But that world didn’t exist, and that time had passed. They’d gone their separate ways- they’d become their separate monsters.

“Send for the Warrior Baek Dong Soo. Tell him his King awaits him.”

As the doctor and the financial minister bow out, the Trio follow behind them softly. The five find themselves beside the king’s quarters, out on a deck where a plate full of buns are waiting to be fed on.

“Was this the right choice?” Cho Rip asks no one in particular.

No one answers and the buns go uneaten. The minister returns to his quarters to change into his robes while the doctor and merchant woman leaves to return to her home in the village. The Trio tread back to their king’s quarters, and a heavy silence overtakes the royal square as blood debts hang over everyone’s heads.

So the games begin.

*******

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We timeskip two weeks next chapter.
> 
> jiejie: older sister  
> gege: older brother  
> Tao-er: little Tao


	3. Chapter 3

**Yeo Woon**

As much as he hated to admit it- no, scratch that.

As much as they  _all_ , Heuska Chorong’s medic-nins included, hated to admit it, the guests were.. great.

As in, fantastic. As in, the Emerald Snake knew how to cook, so he didn’t mind lending a hand to the old ajummas and ajusshis that slaved over the meals for the six hundred strong guild. And Ifrit, the lanky man of six feet steel, had Yeo Woon’s level of patience. He aided training of the two hundred more assassins-in-training, teaching them foreign tricks here and there.

Jin Ju was seemingly in love with the black haired assassin’s footrubs. The blond one with intricately weaved braid danging to his waist had his second-in-command sharpening her shurikens more than often, the universal sign of her crumbling mental wall and affection for the fashionable Chinaman.

But what strikes the Sky and Earth Lords and their followers isn’t the myriad of talents the two men possess. Yeo Woon wishes that were the case, but it isn’t.

Neither men seem to hate anything- not even themselves.

This strikes Yeo Woon as peculiar because soul reapers- or in Huang Zi Tao’s case, a demonic judge -always have something they despise, or something that drives them to despise themselves. Baek Dong Soo makes him hate his being more than anything else. The death of Jin Ju’s adoptive father and birth parents drives her hatred of her fate.

But these two, they seem to hate nothing, and love almost everything. Even the noblemen they’ve killed and chatted about are spoken about in earnest. Some a beautiful and pitiful to kill, while others probably deserved it more than anything else. But no amount of loathing ever laces their words. They’re as genuinely kind and proper as they seem.

And that, of course, turns the entire guild upside down.

“Didi has a plan, and he’s dragging me along.” The braid wielding man exclaims at breakfast one day. The round table hosts the lords, Gu Hyang, the brown garbed youth, and the two guests. Forty other assassins hidden in the crevices of the throne room keep watch, and shamelessly, eavesdrop.

“I really can’t wait to see this.” Jin Ju replies animatedly, already familiar with the many Chinese terms the brothers used with each other.

Luhan scoffs. “There’s a festival that night. I hate multitasking. I can’t kill and shop at the same time!” He gripes, digging furiously into his bowl of fruit.

The brown garbed youth spits into his tea. Yeo Woon pats his back and hands him his napkin.

“Would Tao like to share?” Yeo Woon’s gotten over the honorifics.

The man with the panda-like eyes smiles, his eyes smiling with him. “It’s just a little game. Shouldn’t take the whole night. We’ll be back before the sun’s up.”

The Sky Lord knows better than to inquire any further. As amicable as the two were, their individual and paired missions remained hidden from the rest of Heuksa Chorong. Not because they were wary of them. No, not at all.

It’s because they know Heuksa Chorong doesn’t work the way they do. The way they’ve been taught to end lives is different than the books describing the art here. They don’t like to burden others. That’s another thing Yeo Woon has learned about the brothers. The characteristic is shared with Jin Ju and himself.

Jin Ju pouts. “The festival? I wanted to go.”

Luhan’s eyes light up. “But you can! There’s a lot of them going on!” He gives his little brother a nasty look. “Taozi’s dragging me to the one near the palace. But there are more!”

Gu Hyang nods. “Yes, my Lady. There’s one near the river port. There will be special boats hosting events.”

Jin Ju breaks into a smile. “Then it’s settled. Woon-ie, we’re going.”

She doesn’t leave space for an argument, and he knows better than to combat her verbally. Especially at breakfast. When her marbles are right next to her cup of tea. And his short swords are still on their racks. He sighs.

Zi Tao catches his wave of melancholy and passes him a small bowl of fish fried in lemons. He takes it gratefully before shoveling a few pieces into his mouth.

The morning passes uneventfully after that. Afterwards, he takes a long walk on the beach with Zi Tao before returning to the barracks for training.

The thoughts of Baek Dong Soo’s return begin to plague him once more.

*******

**Dong Soo**

He hasn’t seen Hanyang in eight years.

Sure, he’s met people from there when they travel to the mountains for the tributes to bring back to the king, but Dong Soo never left the icy fields and lakes. Instead, he opted to teach the youth there the ways of the sword rather than wallow in the misery the royal city imposed on him. He doesn’t hate the place, really, or the people. It’s just that every time he sees the familiar village, the shops, the butcher shop where his adoptive father works in- he wants to cry. He wants to curl up on the cart he’s traveling on, and just cry. Cry until his tear ducts stop themselves.

Because  _they’re_  still around. The Trio, Ji Sun, Cho Rip, Jin Ju. Yeo Woon. They’re all here, scattered about the place, living their lives and keeping their sadness to themselves. Dong Soo tried the same trick and removed himself from the vicinity in the process. But now that he’s back, there isn’t much he can do to stop his body.

Tears prick the corners of his eyes, and he instantly drops his eyes.

It doesn’t help when he reaches the palace gates, and people from his past are already waiting for him with their arms wide open. Cho Rip first, then Ji Sun, and then the Trio who jump on him from behind. His brothers, his friends. Finally, when he’s presented in front of the young king, the young man also doesn’t hesitate to envelop him in an embrace, to the shocked features of the queen and her younger brother.

He cries the entire way, and the king doesn’t seem to care. It’s as if the atmosphere in the entire palace has lightened up.

“Welcome back, my friend.” The King speaks earnestly, his eyes shining with reverence and awe.

He nods respectfully. “It’s an honor, your majesty.”

The man introduces his queen consort and her brother. “I trust you already know the details?” He inquires.

He nods again. “Yes, my lord.”

“Then it’s settled. Wu Yi Fan-isshi,” the king calls. The young man with the dark hair and the piercing brown eyes bows his head slightly. “This is your new guard, the warrior Baek Dong Soo. He will shadow you and your brothers from now on.” The king turns to Dong Soo again. “Warrior, I will introduce you to the others after our meal.”

Another nod. “Yes, your majesty.” Dong Soo can feel the distaste emanating from one Wu Yi Fan.

They eat next, the room hosting only the king, the trio, Ji Sun, Cho Rip, and himself. All the while, he remembers pale lips and a warm hands, both belonging to the current Sky Lord.

*******

**Cho Rip**

“Minister.” The title pulls Cho Rip from his reverie. He turns to the young lord Wu Yi Fan, his face fixed in a grimace.

“Yes, my lord?” He asks tentatively. The young man was known for his temper, and he’d just finished eating and drinking with his best friends and lord king.

“Was that the warrior Baek Dong Soo? The Sword Saint’s disciple?”

Well, of course it’s him, he wants to chide the boy. But he knows better than to get cheeky- especially with someone of his caliber.

“Yes, my lord. That would be him.”

“Why did the king send for him?” He snaps. “We need to hire men to hunt down the criminals, not drag in old men with older glory.”

Cho Rip has an urge to backhand the boy. But then again, he knows that it wouldn’t make any difference. The distaste in his throat bubbles. From time to time, it’s good that he remembers why he forsake his noble blood for the simple whim of blacksmithing when he was younger.

“The warrior Baek Dong Soo is a revered fighter, my lord, and a formidable enemy. The Sky Lord of Heuksa Chorong himself counts him as his only enemy, not even fearing the wrath of the king’s soldiers.”

Wu Yi Fan isn’t impressed. “We’ll see how good he is. We’re leaving for the festival tomorrow night.”

Cho Rip blinks. That’s not what he expected to hear. “But, my lord, you’d be lonely by yourself. At least take some wom-”

“Did you not hear me, Minister?” He cuts in. “I said _we’re_ leaving for the festival. My brothers and I.”

“… is that a good idea?” He asks tentatively. “Young lord Yixing cannot leave his quarters because he wanders too far and hurts himself in the process. Min Seok-sshi doesn’t even  _try_  to leave his quarters. And they’re wounds are still fresh.”

Wu Yi Fan shakes his head disgustedly. “It’s been two weeks, and Lady Ji Sun has already informed me that it’s better if they move around than stay cooped up in their quarters. Min Seok only needs someone to aid him when he’s walking, and someone needs to hold on to Yixing before he runs off. Jong Dae and I are more than capable.”

Cho Rip doesn’t think so, but it’s not like he can tell him that. In fact, he’s a little surprised the boy is even telling  _him_  these things. It’s all too bizarre.

“Well, if the young lord wishes and the doctors agree, then I guess there’s nothing I can do to change your mind.”

Wu Yi Fan crinkles his nose. “I need you to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Tell me more about the leader of Heuksa Chorong,” he asks. “They tell me you grew up with him.”

And suddenly, Cho Rip wishes he’d never left the dining hall to begin with.

*******

**Dong Soo**

His breath comes out in wisps of fog, prompting him to rub his arms in earnest. The young lord Wu Yi Fan in front of him doesn’t seem to be fazed by the chilling weather. Instead, he opts to stand casually with his arms around Min Seok and Yixing’s shoulders.

“Dong Soo-sshi,” a feeble voice calls to him, tugging urgently at his sleeve.

“Mmm?” He turns to face the pinched and frosted visage of Jong Dae, the youngest of the group.

“Is this place safe? Is hyun goi-  _ai!_ ” He yelps. Dong Soo instantly shields the young man from the perpetrator, only to see a little girl stick out her tongue and point at the line moving ahead to the ticket booth of the festival.

He shuffles ahead, pulling the younger man close to him, as to get him away from all the probing hands of the miniature pickpockets and the irritable old ajusshis who didn’t have a clue that the group of four young men were royalty and that he was the warrior Baek Dong Soo. No. Tonight they were like everyone else in Hanyang; they were normal people attending one of the five festival rings opening across Hanyang. Dong Soo made sure to pick the one that would be able to boast the most security, with undercover court soldiers littered frantically across the landscape, both in and out of the festival gates. And of course, the occasional mercenary or two, hired specifically to shoot down any and every perpetrator Dong Soo wouldn’t be able to get to, should a problem arise.

They reach the gate in time, and Dong Soo pays the ajumma her coins before leading the four brothers into the already crowded area.

“Where do we go first?” Jong Dae asks softly.

“Let’s get Min Seok something to eat. He looks famished.” Wufan says, pinching the younger man’s cheeks. The stated man only smiles momentarily before reverting back to his apathetic demeanor, hands woven together in front of him and his eyes on the ground below.

“Yixing-hyung, are you hungry as well?” Jong Dae asks, his hand lightly tugging on the elder man’s sleeve. The man with the pale blue cloth covering everything on his face but his eyes pulls out of his reverie. Jong Dae asks again, and he shakes his head. Then his eyes wander off to the colored lights surrounding them, once again oblivious to the others around him.

“I’ll take Min Seok.” Wufan proclaims. “I think I saw a few soldiers in the booth, so they’ll keep watch over us.” He turns to Dong Soo, who’s standing patiently behind the youngest. “ _You_. Guard Yixing and Jong Dae.”

He knows better than to question a direct order. After bowing deeply, he eyes a soldier masquerading as a sweet vendor and they nod slightly to each other in recognition. Dong Soo then follows up behind Jong Dae, who’s arm is locked tightly around his scarred hyung who’s still very much out of reality, and quite possibly, Dong Soo morosely ponders, out of his mind.

*******

**Yi Fan**

The food tastes better than Yi Fan expects it would. He shovels in multiple pieces of shredded octopus, pinpricks of rice, and salted cod one after the other. The menu items here are the same as they would be in the palace, but they aren’t as meticulously prepared here as they were back there. Some of the rice tastes like fermented bean sauce, while the cod has an essence of trout while the octopus shreds either have too little or too much flour coating them. Not at all healthy, not at all noble. But they’re delicious nonetheless, and Wufan couldn’t help himself.

And the younger man in front of him, who for the first ten minutes simply picked at his bowl, is being forced to enjoy it as much as Yi Fan is. He feeds the round faced noble bits of the fish, the rice, the squid the ajumma delivers afterwards, and finally a dish of sake. The alcohol, diluted at Yi Fan’s request, still brings a pink tinge to the younger man’s cheeks so they revert to water instead. After finishing, he drops enough coins to pay for the food and give the ajumma a nice tip. Then he locks arms with the man who hadn’t once opened his mouth to speak. Hauling the thin figure up and straightening his wood-splinted leg, they exit the booth and begin to make their way through the myriad of people squelching and squealing and god knows what.

“Anything particular you want to see,” Yi Fan asks softly, rubbing slow circles on the man’s back. As per usual, he doesn’t speak and instead shakes his head, his eyes fixed doggedly on the earth below.

Had this been any day before the incident, he’d have clipped the man behind the ear and demanded he choose a place they could lounge around in before the soldiers begged for them to come home. But those days were done- for good, Wufan believes- and now there’s two new people replacing two old ones in their group.

Their usually animated Yixing doesn’t open his mouth much but to eat and say things randomly, and spends the rest of his time looking at things for long periods of time and forgetting what day it is. Jong Dae doesn’t join in sword practice anymore, opting to help his sibling around the palace instead, even though there are men and women paid to cater to his every whim.

And Min Seok doesn’t speak. Not once. Ever since he woke up, not a word. Only nods, smiles, and pointing at different things. Words have yet to pass through his lips.

But Yi Fan is determined to make this night count. He knows as soon as he gets the letter from his father, he’s going to be dragged home. His sister will be too, quite possibly. Yixing definitely, but then Jong Dae and Min Seok would be left alone and whatever monster took the time to cut down two nobles probably won’t mind coming back and finishing the job.

And that’s not something Yi Fan is going to risk. He lightly thumbs over the sword hidden deftly beneath his Joseon style robes. The pink jewel on the hilt sends an exhilarating thrill up his spine, and he finds himself tightening his hold on Min Seok.

He doesn’t mind spilling blood in the name of his brothers.

*******

**Luhan**

“Is this a good idea?” The moon-skinned man questions, twirling the cloth of the mask. “Shouldn’t you be helping me buy something for Gu Hyang-sshi instead? I want to get Woon a new clip for his hair. A ruby pin will bring out the red on his uniform, right? I think I’ll get him that. And Jin Ju needs new house slippers. Her blue ones are  _awful_.”

Zi Tao chuckles, tightening the sash around his waist. “Get her brown slippers to match her bow. And make sure Woon-gege’s hairpin has a hint of sapphire with the ruby. I think it would look more elegant.”

The man with the two feet long braid claps excitedly. “And Gu Hyang-sshi would look absolutely  _wondrous_  with a new binyeo. No, wait.  _Five_  new binyeos. She always uses that same, dark blue one with every skirt and jacket. I think I’ll get her pinks, yellows, and oranges. And a red one, along with a gray and light blue one. And our guide! I’m going to get him a new hairtie. One that matches his eyes and not his brown uniform.”

Zi Tao clicks his tongue and fastens the remaining cloth . “Any idea why he wear brown?”

Luhan shrugs. “Rumors fly around, and I caught a few that said it was for the special ops. But I haven’t seen one other assassin garb himself in such a color or the style of uniform. Fishy indeed.”

Zi Tao tugs the mask from Luhan’s hand and places it on his face. The older man gets up and begins to tie the the cloth behind his head.

“Zi Tao.”

“Yes,” the younger man responds, brushing off stray lint and dirt off the brightly colored cloth.

“How soon can we get back to Arabia, do you think? I miss their food already,” he whines.

Zi Tao waits for him to finish. “Soon. Let’s just give the Emperor’s sons the bodies of their older brother and cousin, and then go. Perhaps,” the man clucks, moving away from his older brother and testing the fluidity of the mask, “bring Gu Hyang-sshi with us. She was born in Guzhuang, you know? She just stays here now because she’s in love with Woon-gege.”

Luhan frowns, brushing the last bits of dust off Zi Tao’s pink and blue jacket. “Shame. But hey! If she comes with us, she can see the world! And maybe fall for one of us?” He suggests, winking Zi Tao’s way.

“It would be like you leaving your Emerald Snake’s identity behind, gege.” The younger tuts. “Some things just aren’t meant to happen.”

Luhan sighs, rolling his eyes absently. “Always the logical one.”

“Of course.” Luhan can feel the dark haired man wink at him in return.

After one last check, Zi Tao leaves his brother to his business and carries on with the mission for the night. Luhan scratches his scalp, thinking how nice it would’ve been if one of the Emperor’s sons were here right now. He had fourteen. Wu Yi Fan, the desired hit, was the oldest and not exactly the prettiest. Beautiful, but not the way Luhan would’ve liked. Thank gods they’d never met before. It would be awkward when time came for him to cut the young man down.

There had been three Luhan had liked specially. Seventeen, eighteen, and twenty, he remembers. Unmarried, but with proposals lined up as long as the Great Wall. The oldest and the youngest had sweet words, and even sweeter lips. But the middle one, the eighteen year old- he was beautiful. With eyes as bright green as his foreigner mother’s and skin as supple and lightly oiled as a concubine’s, Luhan regrets not having bedded him. He knows he would have made him sing higher than any woman in the Emperor’s harem. And he’d do it over and over again, till the prince begged to be taken away, a protest which he’d gladly oblige to. It’s ironic because he’s the one who originally proposed the hit on Wu Yi Fan and Yixing Chen. Sweet, beautiful, light to the touch- but underneath, as rotten as the dates the Kush Mountain assassins threw to the ground and covered up as to dissuade hungry beasts.

It’s frightening how evil one can be beneath all of that outward beauty, he thinks. Maybe that’s why I enjoys Arabia so much, he ponders. All the assassins he’s befriended there are so tightly clothed that it’s a surprise he’s even seen some of their faces. And at least their kind of evil is the kind Luhan can get used to and revel in.

The Chinese princes, however. He tries not to think of all the horrors the thirteen brothers have in store for the oldest and their cousin should Luhan and Zi Tao rescind the mission and return to the deserts. He shudders one last time before exiting the crevice between the tents and melding into the crowd like his brother did before him.

*******

**Yi Fan**

“Baozi, look!” Yi Fan points at the neatly arranged rows with small dolls and figurines. He spies a few looking very similar to a Chinese swordsmen, complete with the shaved crown and the long, spindly braided hair that reached down to their waists. Yi Fan would squeal had his pride not gotten the best of him.

“Baozi,  _look_.” he enunciates. “Mama always got me these whenever we had festivals. You should get some too. In fact, I think Yixing and Jong Dae need some in their chambers as well. They’re small, but they always liven up the atmosphere.”

At least, Yi Fan believed they did. Min Seok is as silent as he was before, and simply bobs his head to Yi Fan’s suggestions. A surge of anger bubbles at his throat, but he pushes it down with a single gulp.

As he pays the vendor for four figurines, he reminds himself that it’s not Baozi’s fault he won’t speak and needs someone next to him when he walks with his splinted leg. It’s that monstrous  _thing_  that he’s going to gut like a fish that’s to blame. As he pockets the figurines, he sings promises of murder like they’re hymns.

But that doesn’t last long when Min Seok releases a sudden o _h._

Oh? Yi Fan wants to engulf the man into a hug for the slightest speech, but can’t when he feels himself being barraged from behind. By the time Min Seok’s buried in his chest and silently crying, the commotion is in full swing and Wufan’s sword is ready to cut whoever touches them next.

But a light tap on his wrist by a court soldier he recognizes halts his move, and he forces himself to look where the crowd pummeled towards. He sheathes the sword, and soothes the sobbing man, having forgotten the damned crowd already.

But when the sniffles subside- and Yi Fan catches Min Seok reach for his splint, signaling that the crowd had probably pushed it awkwardly to the side, thus causing the pain- Min Seok peers over his hyung’s shoulder and looks to where the crowd has gathered.

Wufan glimpses a dark red cloth fly up and then descend, the light of the lanterns bouncing off its silken texture.

He hears the crowd  _aigoo_.

Yi Fan would much rather beat the man or woman who’d causes the mini-riot rather than cheer them on.

But double dao swords- not fakes for festival usage, but real, sharpened and  _glinting_  dao swords- are flung into the air and now Wufan’s mouth makes a shocking  _oh_  noise.

And Min Seok turns his head so quickly there’s a resounding  _plop!_  sound.

Yi Fan gets the reaction, so he wraps his arm around him and begins to lead the man the other way. He scoffs. He’s seen better in his father’s court. He is the crown prince, after all. Of course he’s seen jugglers toy with the blades and risk their lives in the process. He’s ached to join them a few times- ached to show the crowd the power and stealth that was cultivated within their future Emperor.

Min Seok seems to understand him better than he understands himself in the end. The younger man pulls at his sleeve, making a gesture for them to stop. Then the young man points behind them. Yi Fan blinks.

Children shriek happily.

Yi Fan loves theatrics, but it’s something he likes to keep to himself.

But Min Seok is just a tad bit more intelligent than he, and begins to lug his hyung towards the crowd, hobbling as he goes. So Wufan silently thanks his ancestors, and they hurry along to where the performer with the real swords is wowing the villagers. The soldiers, in the guise of townsfolk, push and pull people away to make room for Yi Fan and Min Seok.

By the time he knows it, they’re at the front and the performer is spinning and spinning and Yi Fan is taken aback because  _no one_  is supposed to spin that fast and not with two swords going up and down in synchrony. Wufan can’t even move that fast. His teacher would probably kidnap the performer and demand he practice the arts properly and then join his band of Imperial Guards. The last move ends with the man balanced on one foot, his other leg and arms stretched like a three pointed star. The dao swords come down, and one girl begins to cry because something that sharp can only slice through something as thin and delicate looking as the masked performer.

But they fall perfectly on the man’s outstretched arms, and he does one last kick spin with the blades before landing on one foot and bowing to the howling crowd.

Yi Fan is stupefied, Min Seok gives off a guttural noise, substituting for a sound of utter shock..

Yi Fan still can’t believe his eyes.

“Those were… those were real swords.”

Yi Fan wanted to beat the man bloody for trying tricks with real blades that belonged either on the battlefield or on a man’s waist, if he was a guardian of some sort.

They did not belong in the air, ready to slice their wielder to ribbons.

Yi Fan wants to shove his fist down the blasphemer’s throat. Min Seok makes another sound.

And the masked wielder begins again.

*******

**Luhan**

He prances from stall to stall.

_Literally._

He can’t help it. He found all the binyeos that would look beautiful holding up the chignons Gu Huang spends lengthy periods on. He’s an early riser. The washing pond beneath the pagoda has a concrete wall dividing man from woman. By the time he comes out, soaked and pruned -because he loves his bath and waking up at four in the morning is the true test of champions- to the bone, the woman comes out of her side, her inky black hair pulled tightly together in braided rings.

She was beautiful. Luhan likes beautiful people. He decides he needs to get her a hair pin too, just because.

The hairtie and pin for the king and the guide were easier said than done, but he has them latched and in a pouch too. He gets the brown slippers at a bargain and ends up getting himself and Zi Tao matching green ones as well. He fingers his coin pouch, already running low, but he knows Zi Tao has extra pouches hidden across the festival because he’s his little brother and little brothers always seem to know when big brothers can’t control their spending habits.

But Luhan likes to buy for other people, so there. That’s the difference between him and the rancid noble who hasn’t cleaned his loincloth in days.

And so he continues to prance about, the items dangling lovingly on his waist as he smiles his way through the thinning crowd. This section of the festival is clean of all the king’s guards. He’s immobilized every one of them, because Zi Tao specifically stated “no killing,” so that meant the ten stall, eight food booth section was his playground to dance up and down in,

Some of the poorer children look at his smiling and prancing figure and begin to smile themselves. Luhan notices the silent praise and gives them a few coins for food at the booths. A girl tugs at his braid, and he stoops down to give her a coin as well, but she manages to kiss his cheek and then disappear with her friends.

Luhan likes beautiful people and kids. Beautiful people can be evil- but Luhan can handle evil because  _he’s_  evil-, but children are never evil. They can become evil, like a caterpillar becomes a butterfly, but they are never  _born_  evil. This is why he loves children. This is why he loves his little brother.

The Emerald Snake’s coin purse is empty so he slinks into the shadows, sliding off to the nearest booth where one of Zi Tao’s purses awaits him.

*******

**Dong Soo**

The masked performer begins to eye the crowd, looking for his next victim.

He looks straight at Dong Soo.

And Dong Soo avoids his gaze, looking at the shiny lanterns illuminating the arena instead. But nothing ever seems to go right in his life, and he’s literally pulled from his station behind Jong Dae and into the middle of the ring.

The spectators cheer. Dong Soo swears he sees Wu Yi Fan’s face redden.

_Spin!_

Dong Soo’s chest is pressed against the man’s chest, refusing to acknowledge in his head how he figured it was a man to begin with. The tightly woven mask that covers the face comes closer, so close that Dong Soo can’t get away anymore without risking humiliation by falling on his rear end.

Their noses touch. The crowd hollers.

He thinks he sees Wu Yi Fan’s expression turn to that of utter disgust while Min Seok covers his.

_Spin!_

It’s a dance, Dong Soo knows. Probably from the deep crevices somewhere in the Qing empire, or maybe from the South. Perhaps Jeju Island. Dong Soo never had the chance to travel as far as Jeju Island, or south of some of the neighboring towns.

He feels himself being lifted off his feet, and when he falls to the ground, he  _doesn’t_.

The man’s leg is wrapped around one of his, and it’s like he’s suspended in the air. When the leg lock is released, Dong Soo spins again and falls snugly into the man’s waiting chest.

An ajusshi in the crowd whistles.

Dong Soo wishes it were someone else in his place.

And then, he wishes he was one of the undercover guards, the ones slinking behind booths and stalls, offering food and keeping an eye on things. Once he’s released from the dancing demon with the twin dao swords and thin arms, he’s running out of the spectator’s ring with Jong Dae trailing behind.

Yixing is gone.

*******

**Luhan**

He thinks Zi Tao’s plan worked. Not because the thinned crowd mean less people hogging the food he wants, but because he feels a disturbance in the force. And the feeling is confirmed when he inspects a young man nearing his booth.

His nearly devoid of all human life, serves only takoyaki, Japanese assassin-ajumma owned booth.

Luhan finishes chewing and swallows his last fried octopus ball before rising and gesturing the Japanese ninja woman to slink away.

The young man has a pale blue cloth, with a star stitched on both sides, covering his face. Everything below his eyes is covered. Luhan stifles a laugh. This must be the Yixing, the cousin, who now sports the smile of the kings.

Ripped flesh on both his cheeks. Most dead lords never get the opportunity to bask in its sickening beauty.

The next laugh escapes Luhan, and he does it so with pride. His eyes crinkle with mirth as the young man dazedly comes closer and closer towards the booth, as if unsure of where his legs were taking him. Tao said he would make sure this one would lose his mind. And he did, by the looks of it.

They’re finally face to face, Luhan’s mirth ridden eyes meeting his clueless ones. It’s kind of funny. He wants to cut the greasy noble down right now and move on to more takoyaki, but he knows Tao wouldn’t approve. So Luhan chooses instead to leave the wandering man to his wandering ways, and head to the next food booth. But before he can move, there are hands on his arms.

Warm hands- and eyes that switch from clueless to pained so fast, even Luhan needs to blink a few times to clarify the change.

“Do you know where Jong Dae is?” It’s a garbled whisper, almost as if it pains for him to speak. It probably does, with all that nerve damage. The man lets go of one of his arms and signals a height gesture. “He’s this tall. He has blue- no wait-  _green_  robes on… I think.” The lordling lets go abruptly. “I need to find him.”

Poor soul. He wouldn’t mind putting this one to sleep forever. Well, that is, if he doesn’t put himself to sleep by accident. Luhan now  _knows_  Zi Tao’s plan worked. The lordling is here. The crowd’s no longer a crowd, and this Jong Dae- the king’s youngest cousin- is lost to Yixing, though he guesses Yixing is really the one who’s lost. Luhan needs to cut this short so he can do his part and get the gifts on his hip to the appropriate receivers.

But Luhan doubts the dazed man would understand the predicament they’re both in.

And then the hands are on his starched collar. He blinks again.

“The demon’s going to get him,” the noble says, and Luhan has to inch in just a bit to hear the words. “It’s because he’s still a baby. That monster’s going to eat him alive.” Even if the words are inaudible to everyone else, they’re still crazed.

Put him out of his misery, a part of Luhan says. Not if you want Taozi to pout for an entire month straight, says another. Anything for his baby brother.

So he just clicks his tongue and decides he’s going to lash this crazy the way he lashes the street vendors in Jeju that don’t give him the right squid.

“Your mother probably wishes you were never born,” he drawls. Zi Tao won’t be mad if the noble kills himself, he thinks. “Oh, and you’re not as pretty as they said you were. I mean, look at your hair.” Luhan touches a tuft of the dark brown tresses. It’s softer than silk. “It’s courser than a pair of shaven balls. Shameful.” The young man simply blinks, letting go of his starched collar.

Luhan’s on a roll. “And your clothes.” He pulls at the tied cloth holding his jacket. “Colors are fighting each other, ugly. That’s never a good sign.”

Again, the man simply blinks. Luhan tries another, more dirty tactic.

“I know what’s under that cloth,” he says, a cruel smile forming on his lips. “Did it hurt when he carved it into your face?”

At that, the young man is taken aback, and almost instantly, tears spring in his eyes. He whimpers something pathetically, the tears spilling over and streaking the fabric. It’s awkward to the passerby, but Luhan closes in again. “Say that again.”

He can’t decipher the other words, since the tears are making his already impeded speech even worse. But there is one word he manages to catch.

Luhan jeers. “Aha- wait what?” An inkling of confusion touches his head. “ _Angel!?_ ”

By now, the feeble man is rambling nonsense, and it’s all muffled and wet, and sounds really disgusting to his sensitive ears. But the latter manages to take a deep breath, and begins to shake, forcing his mouth open enough to actually emit audible words. “I need to find Jong Dae before it finds him.” He grits out, the pain of injury glazing over his eyes. “Why won’t you  _help_  me?” The question comes off as a wail, but it’s mostly screaming. Yixing is screaming.

And Luhan hates it when people yell at him or Tao. Once, an innkeeper made the mistake of yelling at Zi Tao on a particularly rainy evening when they were both starving. Luhan ended up ripping his tongue out and feeding it to him before raiding the inn’s kitchen.

And this loony isn’t any different, so Luhan snatches the cloth off his face and the wailing stops. Full stop. Luhan grins and sheds light over his baby brother’s handiwork.

A thick piece of rough thread is sewn into each side of the man’s face. They reach as far as the ears, but never hit the tragi. They aren’t thinly sutured either. Since the fleshed was carved, the stitches holding the flesh together look like basket weaves. It’s nauseating to gaze upon because when his mouth is open, the torn flesh actually pokes out on the sides, along with the thick, animalskin threads. Luhan is disgusted and considers returning the fabric for the sake of his eyes.

But his behavior’s done the trick. The tears amble down his face pass down his stitched face, causing the man to furiously wipe his eyes and end up tugging a suture harshly. He croaks and falls back on his bum. The tears continue to spill and trek down his cheeks as the man looks up to him in utter horror.

“Why?” That’s all he manages to get out.

Luhan always has an answer ready. “If you can’t accept your new found beauty now, you won’t ever in the future. And the future’s a long time, ugly. Don’t think it ends quickly, because it doesn’t.” He throws the cloth on the ground and saunters away, leaving the sobbing man behind.

Well, it’s a half truth, anyway, he ponders quietly. He’s going to die soon, but most people live long and healthy lives after disasters like these. In the loony’s case, it was an assassin. A farmhand might get attacked by a water bull and be armless for the rest of his life. But at least the farmhand would accept it and move on, like the rest of humanity. He agrees that it’s better the fool get used to his new face, or else his impending death would be in vain.

The harebrained idiot continues to wrack out sobs, and no one pays attention to the hideous monster, man-child sprawled on the dirt. Not even Luhan, who slips into the darkness shortly after to find his target.

But his hands were warm, he recalls, and his hair soft. Tao was right. He  _was_  beautiful once.

*******

**Yi Fan**

As soon as the performer lets him go, the special guard runs out of the ring like demons are after him. And it takes only a quarter of a second for Yi Fan to turn his head towards the direction of the running man, and when he eyes a flustered Jong Dae with Yixing no where in sight, he balls one hand into a fist while the other tightens around Min Seok’s arm.

“Let’s go.” He snaps.

It’s easier said than done when he feels a strong arm enclose around his waist. His eyes are ready to pop out of his head. A girl next to him squeal. Min Seok’s pushed back and into the arms of one of the undercover guards. Yi Fan glimpses something flash across the younger man’s eyes when the performer’s free, ungloved hand ghosts over his cheek in a loving gesture.

That lasts less than five seconds, and Yi Fan gets pulled into the ring like a rag doll while his charge lies motionless against a guard.

The clothed arms are heated, the sweat dampening them and leaving Yi Fan smelling as musky as the latter.

He wants to push the man away and get to Min Seok and go look for Yixing. As enigmatic as the man is, he doesn’t hold enough precedence in his list of priorities yet. Yi Fan spies Min Seok’s horror-stricken face. Something’s happened.

When Yi Fan turns, he sees that the performer has relieved himself of his sash. He can now see the deeper contours of his body- the harsh muscle of his stomach, the steely chest, and the hardened lines of his clavicle. He’s then pulled so close that Wufan thinks he can feel the other man’s heartbeat- amongst other things that he’s tightly pressed against.

He swallows the yelp in his throat when cold, light fingers touch the nape of his neck and sends shivers up his spine. The man’s nose, lips, and cheeks are hidden behind the cloth mask, but his eyes are boring straight into Yi Fan’s soul. Their noses touch, like before with the warrior and the performer. Except now Wufan feels the electricity flow through him when the sweat soaked cloth press against his person. Another caress, this time on his stomach, nearly makes him lose his mind.

But Min Seok’s expression stays burned into his eyes, and he recovers from the spell quickly. 

The man then tries to twirl Yi Fan. Yi Fan recants by throwing a well aimed jab to his chest.

The jab sends the man back a few feet, and before he can attempt to straighten himself, Yi Fan roundhouse kicks him into the crowd. Too easy, he hears himself say inwardly. Too easy.

A cry of displeasure rings out, but Wufan doesn’t pay attention. He turns back to Min Seok, who’s eyes are wide open and filled with fear.

The crowd yells for him to get out of the ring. Ignoring the noise, he takes Min Seok by the arm and begins to push through the people to leave, the soldiers aiding in their quest. Ten minutes later, they’re away from the throng of festival goers and in an alcove.

“Min Seok-ah? Can you hear me?”

Min Seok blinks something back. Yi Fan doesn’t know if its tears or fear. He barks out orders to the soldiers, telling them to go find Yixing and Jong Dae. He’ll take care of Min Seok.

A guttural moan escapes the crippled man’s lips. Yi fan’s hands are grasping his shoulders tightly. “What? What did you see?”

The cries of the crowd get louder, and for some odd reason, streams of people begin to come down the earthy pathway, as if the show’s finished.

“It was him.”

Yi Fan blinks. It’s been over two weeks since Min Seok last spoke.

“That was  _him_  back there.”

Yi Fan stills. Min Seok hasn’t spoken in over two weeks. He’s speaking now. It could only be one person. Peeking out from the earthen walls, he sees the throngs of people now mingling and laughing near booths and stalls, the performer forgotten. The performer himself- the masked man- is no where to be found.

“Min Seok-ah… are you sure?” He asks as delicately as possible. Min Seok’s eyes are haunted, like he’s seen a hundred years on this earth instead of twenty-one.

“His fingers were so cold, hyung.” He whispers, steam coating the air. “Like a dead man’s. Like he wasn’t human to begin with.”

Yi Fan doesn’t expect it is. From the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of a colored mask meld into the shadows. When he whips his head towards the sight, there’s nothing but a stall filled with children.

Yi Fan doesn’t get time to dwell on it. A scream pierces out into the night, and Yi Fan’s never been more afraid for his brothers than at that very moment.

*******

**Luhan**

The boy slumps to the ground, mouth gurgling and pulse weakening. The blood from the jagged fissures on his arms and legs soak the remaining bits of his robes and the earth below. The stench tickles Luhan’s nose.

Not dead, but he would wish he was. Soon.

He’s already one with the shadows by the time he hears the scream.

*******

**Dong Soo**

“Yixing-sshi!”

Dong Soo gets on his knees, checking the shaking noble for injuries. When he finds nothing, he realizes the man is without his pale blue cloth. He looks around and finds the fabric lying haphazardly a foot away. Dusting off the prickles of dirt, he ties the cloth around the man’s face before hauling him up.

He doesn’t stop sobbing and shaking.

“Sunbaenim!”

Dong Soo turns to see a rattled guard breathing heavily. “What is it?”

The young soldier bites his lips before starting. “There are no soldiers breathing here. Their bodies have been found scattered throughout this perimeter.”

Dong Soo turns to the incoherent man in his arms. “Where are Young lord Wu Yi Fan and Min Seok-sshi?” A spark goes off in Dong Soo. “Where’s Jong Dae-sshi? He was right behind me!”

The soldier looks at him with confused eyes. “Sunbaenim, I-I didn’t see Jong Dae-sshi running behind you.”

Dong Soo blanches. “I saw him behind me as I was running. He was here-”

The shrill scream cuts him off. The sobs of the scarred lord only add to the cacophony of terror.

*******

**Zi Tao**

“Oh, that was fun.” He finds himself giggling. The rush of a dao dance does wonders for his limbs. Swords dancing in the air, him making one with the earth and the sky- it’s more than exhilarating. Then the paired dances with the people in the crowd, which brought him back to the dances he did with the tribal peoples in the Kush mountains. One with a little girl, one with an old man, a blushing young woman, the warrior, and finally  _him_.

The euphoria causes colors to dance in front of his eyes, and by the time his mask’s off, he’s fully engrossed in laughter.

“Ha ha ha, I’m pissing rainbows.” He hears a familiar voice drawl.

Zi Tao catches the older man ramble into the little room, scowling and brushing his jacket clean of god knows what. “By the sound of all that ruckus, I’m assuming gege spent his time actually doing the job rather than chasing butterflies?” Zi Tao asks innocently, his eyes twinkling with mirth as sweat glistens on his dirtied skin.

“That mouth on you, Tao-er,” he replies, clearly insulted. “I didn’t kill him, but I should have. Just to piss you off.”

Zi Tao frowns. “Gege would never. I’d have to give you to silent treatment then.”

Luhan waves his hand dismissively. “So, we scared them a little. Can we just go ahead and have them done with, please?” He grouses, tapping his foot impatiently. “I just realized how much I miss spicy food. Like real, spicy food. Ugh, not even the kimichi here is as good as it is on Jeju.”

He wipes his face with the rag stowed away in the little shelves. “Easy. If we go too fast, it won’t be as long-lasting. And we’ve always done things properly. Why break tradition because of petulance?”

This time Luhan gasps. “Really, didi, now you’re just asking to be slapped.”

Zi Tao just smiles.

Once he’s dressed in comfortable peasants rags, he throws his brother some as well. Once he’s done and the gifts are placed deftly underneath the dirty robes, they slip out of the little room and mold into the flocks of people leaving the festival.

He catches glimpse of the lords and the blank-faced warrior as they weep over the damaged person of their youngest brother, Jong Dae. Zi Tao turns away and exits the place with Luhan, walking with the crowd as far the village before taking a detour towards Heuksa Chorong.

He fingers the little pouch on his hip that holds the little wuxia figures. He smiles, thinking of how he swiped it from the young lord in the short time of their loveless dance.

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to clarify one thing. Luhan and Zi Tao aren’t actually demons here. The idea of demons/monsters is a metaphor. Zi Tao’s fingers are cold after the performance/dancing because he has a condition in which blood doesn’t travel all the way through his appendages, thus leaving his fingertips blue and cold. The condition exists.
> 
> didi: little brother


	4. Chapter 4

**Cho Rip**

“… so he just told you to sleep it off? What?”

Dong Soo scratches his forehead. “I told him I’d take full responsibility, but he just…. He blames  _himself_ for allowing the lords to go. He said I did my job right, when clearly I  _didn’t_.”

Cho Rip is just as befuddled as his friend. “ _Someone_  has to take the responsibility. I’m not getting the gist of this at all.”

“Neither am I,” he agrees, nodding along. Dong Soo takes a deep breath. “It’s not him, that’s for sure.”

Cho Rip stills. “What?”

“Yeo Woon. It’s not his guild. At first, I was skeptical when you told me his group didn’t have a hand in anything. But now I know. Newcomers are here, and they’re absolute monsters.”

“Well, what are you going to do now?”

“I asked the King to take me off guarding the boys.”

“What?” It’s a very confusing day for the once bespectacled man. “Why? You know the one with the permanent scowl is the future emperor, right? And you’re the most celebrated fighter in the kingdom. You’re duty-bound to protect him, whether the King wants it or not.”

“I asked him if I could instead seek out information about the new assassins- perhaps hire aid to deal with them. If they’re going to attack like this, scaring the court in the process, then maybe it’s better we play fire with fire. And the boys won’t be leaving the compound. Letters have been sent to the Emperor regarding the danger his son and nephew are in. It won’t be long before an envoy comes to take them back.”

“You want to hire assassins to take care of assassins?” The Finance Minister squeaks, astonished at the audacity of his suggestion. “Dong Soo-yah, has the mountain air frozen your remaining brain cells?”

“Would you rather we work this on our own?” He asks sincerely. “We could. If the Trio could get off guard duty and if Ji Sun gets her contacts in line, we could track them down together.”

It dawns upon Cho Rip how much of an impossibility that is. “… but we can’t. The King needs his guards, and Ji Sun has a business to run.”

“He’s already agreed to put it forth. I start today. I’ll find a way to stop this. I swear it.”

“Listen, Dong Soo. There’s something you need to know.”

An eyebrow quirks on the dusky man’s features. “What is it?”

“Wu Yi Fan, the prince- he inquired about Yeo Woon.”

Something rings in the distance. Noblemen and women begin to saunter to the feasting halls as the lunch bell comes to an end.

“Why would he ask something like that?” Dong Soo whispers leading Cho Rip away from the hither-tither of the ambling men and women.

“He took lessons from Ji Sun about Joseon’s medicinal herbs. She piqued his interest when he saw her shoot three arrows simultaneously into a stray rebel with a single blow-  _without_ killing him. He began probing the court for information about her. He found out she was our charge when she was still a priestess.”

Dong Soo’s eyes widen. “Who would go around saying these things? Don’t they know the king specifically asked for that kind of information to stay underground?”

“Those foot soldiers that fought with us against the Defense Minister’s uprising,” he replies, crinkling his nose ar the sheer mention of the defamed and executed noble. “They resisted at first, but then I looked into it and found out that the prince has an excellent level of alcohol tolerance. He and the king’s cousin, Min Seok, hosted a dinner a few months back. The prince has known for months, Dong Soo, that we and the others were a team back then. He knew Ji Sun had the map tattooed on her back before she burned the skin. But it was only a few days ago that he inquired about Yeo Woon and Heuksa Chorong. I think that boy’s going to do something.”

“Do you think he wants Heuksa Chorong to be involved in this?” Dong Soo asks hesitantly.

“I think he had it in mind as soon as he saw the first two get treated in the sickroom. I bet he wants to join in on the kill. He has bloodlust in him.”

Cho Rip can see the calculating gaze turning into something harsher. Dong Soo hitches a breath. “We can’t get him involved. I’ll have to ask the king to put extra security on him. If he finds out how to contact the guild, it’ll be his death and mine.”

“Now it seems like a bad idea, doesn’t it?” He replies sarcastically. “But you’re right. We can’t do this on our own. Woon will be involved, one way or another, sooner or later. We just have to make sure it’s on our terms and not on Wu Yi Fan’s.”

Dong Soo scrunches his eyebrows before inching in close. “What did you tell him?”

“Only that Woon was always the best fighter amongst us, and that it was only when you reached his level that he broke away and became the Sky Lord. Nothing about the former lords death, and that whole fiasco at the river port. Just the basics. We had two defectors go off and become assassins while the rest of us scattered away with our own lives.”

“Are you sure?” He pushes. “Are you sure he didn’t ask anything else?”

Cho Rip rubs his temple. “If you’re asking about  _that_  thing, then yes. He knows. I didn’t have to tell him. The entire compound knows but no one talks about it because no one wants Heuksa Chorong to cut them up in their sleep. Not even the Old Mister talks about, but I can assure you, the boy knows. I think he heard it during the feast he threw. No doubt jibes and jeers were made during all that drinking. Half of them are as uncouth as they seem. One, two or five of them probably talked to much and then passed out and didn’t remember saying anything the following morning.”

A look of fear flashes across Dong Soo’s features, and Cho Rip gets a hold of his arm before he shifts into his paranoid state. “What’s he going to do with the information, anyway? The King’s specifically made sure every noble and soldier’s mouth stays closed about our past. Even if he wants to do something about it, he can’t- not unless he wants to invoke both the king and Woon’s wrath.”

Dong Soo softens in his hold. “I know, it’s just that… I can’t explain it. He should have never caught on it to begi-”

“Do you regret it?” The Finance Minister cuts in. They’ve walked this entire time, out of the gate, into the village, and now stopped at the small river that divides the village in half. “Do you regret what happened?”

Dong Soo’s voice hitches. “Never. Not for one second.”

“Then let it go. He knows, then he knows. He can’t use it against you, or Yeo Woon. In fact, it might even be easier now. If he tries to blackmail anyone, Woon will sew his trap shit, princely status be damned. Then he’ll back off and you can get the job done and come home, for heaven’s sake!” He finishes, exasperated beyond measure.

And it ends there. They stand for a lengthy period of time, simply watching the small waves of water lap at their feet. Cho Rip, and his terrible and rather traitorous mind, flashes back to a simpler time. They hadn’t met Ji Sun yet.

It was just them- the boys. Young, bothersome, the bane of Heuk Sa Mo’s existence. But they were comrades. They promised to fight and die together, training all in the name of their lord king. But that particular day, the sweltering heat caused the old man to let the boys off for the evening, so they jerked around the village, eating and goofing off to their wits end. The Trio and Cho Rip had left for the market square in the end. When they returned, they saw the remaining two of their group caught in a loving embrace.

The four slunk away and never spoke of it to anyone, since they were human enough then to understand love when they saw it happen. It didn’t matter that it was two of their closest friends, because they guessed love could happen anywhere anyway, and it wasn’t as if they’d ever tell and send both their friends to the gallows.

None, not even the brainy Cho Rip, ever guessed the two men involved would one day grow up and grow apart- one as an infamous savior, and the other as a famed killer. Cho Rip watches a pebble clip into the water and send tiny ripples coursing through the surface.

He hopes Wu Yi Fan can live with knowing the Sky Lord and the warrior were lovers once. He just hopes the boy isn’t stupid enough to do anything about it. He hates to think what Woon would have in store for him if he did.

*******

**Yeo Woon**

It isn’t as if he doesn’t try to get the man out of his head, because he does.

He stops taking breaks during training. Of course, the trainees themselves take their breaks and whatnot, but the leader doesn’t stop. He’s come to believe the more physically active he is, the more it allows him to forget his troubles.

Though in truth, the tireder he gets, the harder it becomes to actually think. He’s just deluded himself into believing exercise actually has a profound effect on helping him keep the depression at bay. There’s a terrible outcome in the end, since when he finally goes to sleep, he  _doesn’t_. The memories creep into his slumber and so he’s left to stare at the ceiling while the wind brushes against his skin, reminding him of all the times they’d made love in the fields. So he manages to cry himself to a dreamless slumber, a few hours a piece, before waking up and staring at the ceiling again.

The day after the festival is supposed to go the way it has for the past few weeks- wake up, eat, train, slump over in bed, cry a little, fall asleep, wake up again. But it doesn’t. The man with the panda-like eyes doesn’t let it.

“Un-ah,” he calls. Jin Ju nudges him to break him out of his reverie.

“Yes, Tao?” He responds, blinking away the sleep in his eyes.

“Let’s take the day to go over the battle plan,” he crows, shoveling the lunchtime rice into his mouth while his brother pours him more banana milk. “Tonight, we’re scouting the palace.”

Yeo Woon nods slightly and nibbles at his fish. Jin Ju slaps his arm this time, signaling him to eat instead of sulking. He only manages to eat half of it before he leaves the hall with the taller man.

**~*~**

“How does it feel to love, Un-ah?”

If Yeo Woon had food in his mouth, he’d choke on it. But he settles for coughing on dry air instead.

“Excuse me?”

Tao shoves the blueprints of the castle to the side and scoots closer to the smaller man. “Tell me what it’s like to love. Not in the way I love gege or you. I want to know how it feels to love like you do the warrior.”

Yeo Woon’s never actually blushed in front of anyone besides Dong Soo, so it takes him a few minutes to get his thumping heart under control. He wants to lie, but he knows he can’t. “It’s a terrible feeling,” he ends up deadpanning.

Tao rises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Is it innate to love? Does it just happen, or do we have to put in effort for it to happen?”

Yeo Woon quietly gathers the blue prints and begins binding them with the rough thread. “It can happen overnight.” Like it did with him. “Or it can happen over a course of meetings. Not much effort is needed if the heart’s already decided its course.”

Tao thumbs over the bamboo flooring, picking at a notch and ripping off a piece. “So it’s bad to love?”

“For our kind, yes. It’s… inadvisable.” Lest you wish to end up like me, Yeo Woon winces inwardly.

And then he finds himself engulfed in a hug. Since he’s substantially smaller than the wushu practitioner, he finds himself pressed firmly against his firm chest, both arms locked around his shoulders. Had this been Jin Ju, he’d have patted her on the back and told her to return to her work and slipped away to sulk under a tree somewhere. Gu Hyang would never touch him, but she’d sit by him as he cried, as would the brown garbed youth. But this is the Chinaman, from a land far off, accustomed to things he isn’t, and absolutely far too kind for his own good. But he finds himself melding into the embrace like butter to a low flame.

When he feels the tears come, he doesn’t bother brushing them off.

*******

**Dong Soo**

He stands in front of the Buddhist temple where he’d once dropped off Ji Sun some ten years ago, when they were still young and idiotically jovial.

He remembers falling asleep on one of the mats after scraping the prayer room clean, and chuckles at how he was woken up from his slumber. It had been a bucket of water, a smiling Ji Sun, and an utterly cruel lover who’d slunk away before he could charge him with blasphemy. He had to walk home in a monk’s skirt and drape with his wet clothes slung on his shoulder because he refused to spend the night at the temple where the holy men already wanted his head. He’d refused to speak to the long haired man that night, but all that seemingly changed when arms crept around his waist and kisses came fluttering down on his neck.

The memories bring unwanted tears to his eyes, but they don’t fall. He bows to a passing monk before slipping out of the compound and onto the road. But instead of ambling towards the village, he goes the opposite way towards the wheat fields.

In which he’s immediately ambushed with a stick.

He blinks thinking there couldn’t be a swordsman dumb enough out there to use a stick to start a fight. But then again, Dong Soo tries not to underestimate the stupidity in some people because he recalls that he was the same a decade back. Except his choice of warning signs were pebbles. At least sticks were softer, and perhaps, a bit more respectful.

When Dong Soo turns around, he expects the challenger to be one of the participants that loved to frequent the mountain gambling houses where he regularly fought. Or at least a begrudging fan. Maybe a crazy man, or a past opponent.

Who he doesn’t expect to see is Wu Yi Fan.

*******

**Tao**

He applies the rose oil at the roots of the hair before thinning the excess along the long, dark tresses. The man in front of his hums contently, patting his tummy.

“Gege, why do you think Un-ah loves the warrior so much?”

The man who’s hair is being thoroughly pampered squawks. “Do we have to do this now? Can’t you just do my hair quietly?” He whines, rubbing his full stomach.

“I think it’s because they’ve known each other since they were kids,” he adds, blatantly ignoring the older man’s cries while rubbing his wet fingers along the long locks. “It’s so sad to see him crying over him. I caught him the other day by the river, but didn’t say anything. Today, while we were going over the blueprints, I hugged him and he started crying. I’m so sad, gege.” He finishes morosely, softening his movement on the hair.

“Leave the man to his misery,” Luhan snaps, rubbing his temples. “You can’t pull someone else out of their hell unless they  _want_ to be pulled out. You know the story. He fell in love with the enemy while pretending to be good and  _almost_  became good for him. He managed to stop himself, but it was already too late. The pit he’s created for himself is of his own. If he’d been smarter, he would have killed him instead of bedding him.” He finishes, letting the words sink in.

But they don’t. It’s a rather annoying trait, Tao knows, but he likes this about himself- his ability to believe for the better instead of running with the core facts. “But he’s become the best he can be because of him. There must be  _something_  special about the warrior if he’s done this kind of damage to a dark lord. Or is it just in the eyes of the beholder, gege?”

His brother remains silent now, his humming having subsided and his arms folded neatly in his lap and no longer fleeting over his stomach. Tao rubs some more oil onto his hands and begins massaging the tips of the waist length hair, warming his palms in the process.

“Gege. Do you remember that gaijin we met in Edo. The pretty one with white hair and blue eyes?” His brother doesn’t budge but he continues to talk. “You told me that if he’d been born of different birth- you know, a slave instead of a gaijin noble -that you would have stolen him. But he was the fleet commander’s son and he was a seafarer and spoke mediocre Japanese. But you wanted to steal him anyway, but couldn’t and you didn’t. Was that love, gege?”

Tao’s asked this question ten different times, all during different situations. Once, they were at Mount Fuji and stuck in some vines and Tao asked him. Another time was when they were in a market somewhere east of a Kurdish stronghold, and Tao was shuffling sweetened rice into his mouth when he asked the question. The answer was always the same.

“If I’d have loved him, then I would have killed him.” Huang Luhan repeats for the eleventh time. “If I loved him, I would have buried his bones next to mother’s. But I didn’t, now did I?”

He didn’t. Tao knows because he’d seen the man off with his father and fleet. He was as radiant as he was talkative and happy. And he’d made friends, acquaintances, enemies, and deals much better than the likes of his father. Tao had wanted to befriend the man and quite possibly make him part of their world, but his brother had advised him against it. He was too human, even if darkness permeated the very trenches of his soul.

And so he’d sailed off, back to his homeland somewhere far, far away. And he went back in one piece.

“We’re to kill the ones we love in order to stave off our humanity.” Tao mutters, remembering the quote from their dearly departed mother. She’d died after having stabbed herself when Tao was only six and Luhan eleven. “But then, why are  _we_ still here, gege?”

Luhan begins handing the taught ribbons to Tao as he begins to braid the freshly cleaned and oiled hair. Tao ties the knot towards the end and finishes off by tying the cord securely over the knot. Once he’s finished, he turns to the bleached bangs on the front and combs it lightly with the fine toothed comb.

“We’re exceptions.” Luhan deadpans later. Tao blinks.

He gets it, even if his brother doesn’t. They weren’t the only exceptions. Gu Hyang-sshi, Woon, and the rest all had their human vices. Gu Hyang would have killed the Sky Lord by now if everyone followed the assassin’s main tenant. Baek Dong Soo would be underground now. Tao would be buried next to his mother.

But he wasn’t, and Baek Dong Soo was alive and well. Yeo Woon still ran the guild with his bow-wielding wife-by-name and best friend-by-nature. There would always be an exception to this rule for every assassin.

After all, they were just humans- no matter how hard they tried to be demons.

*******

**Yi Fan**

He’d specifically told the guards not to bother him while he poured over his scrolls. They had, so he’d knocked them out, tied them up, and put them in a corner of his room.

Then he realized everyone was off with the lunch bell, and that he wasn’t hungry and probably wouldn’t be until nighttime. So he’d changed into a pair of peasant clothes he’d swiped from a peddler a few months ago and made his way out of the palace and into the village with his sword strapped to his chest. There he spied the warrior and the Defense Minister standing by the low river and speaking. Before long, the nobleman left and the warrior stood staring at the soft ripples at his feet.

Then he moved, and so did Wu Yi Fan.

And now here they are, Wu Yi Fan challenging the great warrior Baek Dong Soo in broad daylight in a wheat field.

The first strike is always to the middle, and that’s where Yi Fan’s swift fingers go.

They don’t touch the chest as the opponent is faster than he’d calculated, and a harrowing kick sends him back a few feet. He responds with a series of quick jabs to the arms and neck, only to be held back by counter strikes to the torso and calves. His attempt to send a roundhouse kick ends up failing as Baek Dong Soo’s foot meets him midair.

When the needles slip into his radar, he dodges faster than he ever has. He eyes the thin, acupuncturist weapon he knows very few people can use. He can, his mother can, and his mentor can. But not even his father has been able to master the art of the deadly yet helpful slates of blade.

But Baek Dong Soo knows their usage as well, and that doesn’t help to quell his anger towards him.

When another swipe towards him, he back flips out of their course and high kicks the man’s shoulder, causing him to falter. Swatches of needles tumble to the ground, and Yi Fan strikes again, this time to his ribcage.

The last hit is met with a drawn sword to Yi Fan’s neck as his fist curls against the battered rib.

A darkness sweeps over the warrior. He’s heard of the gambling houses in the mountains. Though the tribes there are quaint and keep their opinions to themselves, the rowdy outcasts go flock at the multiple gambling grounds scattered through the terrain. Baek Dong Soo’s fought in all of them in the past eight years, and he’s never lost once. He’s never lost, and he’s never killed. The houses now invited him to fight just to bring in spectators so they could stare at awe while he stood at his peak. His last one was four days before he was summoned by the king.

Yi Fan had scoffed at first, judging the warrior’s idiocy and lack of understanding of the sword. But now he sees why he does it, and why more than half of the assassin guilds in the peninsula stay away from him.

There’s pain. There’s raw, unadulterated pain.

“Young lord,” the man utters, his voice weak but sword firm. “Please.”

Wu Yi Fan knows pain. Wu Yi Fan knows  _that_  pain- the kind of pain that won’t go away till death comes along. He blinks. He remembers. The warrior Baek Dong Soo’s agonized eyes bear into his own, and Wu Yi Fan  _remembers_.

He wasn’t always a bitter man. He wasn’t even a bitter child. He was actually quite happy growing up. It was just when he was in the middle of his thirteenth year that he realized that he was no longer the same.

The sword that came down on the stableboy’s neck was proof enough that his childhood was over. The stableboy’s lover, a male court servant, who was flayed and burned just solidified the claim. Wu Yi Fan remembered looking into the court servant’s light brown eyes, looking for a reason to judge him like the ministers did. But Yi Fan found no wrongdoing, and when he moved the slightest to protest the execution, his mentor clipped his ear and he froze. He froze, the needle halting any movement but from his eyes. He froze and he watched- watched as the world around him slowly began to smolder and burn.

They both died screaming.

Wu Yi Fan blinks. The sword stays to his neck, and his fist presses against the rib. A gentle wind lolls by, softly shaking the wheat stalks as they stand in complete silence.

The king knew, Yi Fan remembers hearing from a maid. The king knew but let him go because he helped defeat the defense minister’s uprising. But everyone knew that wasn’t it- the warrior was shamed. That’s why the warrior left for the mountains- to hide his shame of being what he was and as to not provoke his demonic other half that lurked around the edges of the city. The king feared the demon’s wrath, and the warrior feared both him and himself. Pain and fear.

He’d asked his mentor about the execution later and was met with another hit. This time, a fist struck his torso, and he doubled over, coughing blood onto the pink cloth beneath. Had the jab been a centimeter higher, he’d be dead. He’d be dead and the king would in turn deem the second son as the heir. Wu Yi Fan would become obsolete. No one would care, but his mother, and she’d probably be executed by the other concubines for some odd reason or another. Then their existence would become obsolete. Those same concubines would find a way to kill Yixing’s mother too, and then Yixing would probably become some old Minister’s favorite fighting tool in the gambling halls because of his sheer speed. He’d die before his fifteenth birthday, and everything would end. Everything.

The warrior would never become forgotten, the washerwoman said. He had an adoptive father, a demon protecting his shadow, four brothers, two women, and the heavens on his side. As much he hated himself, they would never bring themselves to hate him. The old woman chuckled. The warrior will return, she said. He will return when the demon passes, because the warrior carries the Sword Saint’s teachings, she said. The warrior can fight, can draw, can love, and destroy because pain drives him, she said. He will never be forgotten, she said.

When Wu Yi Fan asked his mother to stop sending the pretty boy with the bright green eyes up to his quarters with his nightly honeyed milk, she understood. She understood, and an old woman began to bring his milk every night after. He apologized to his master the next day. The same day he saw the boy leaving the palace for his new home somewhere else, and Wu Yi Fan never saw him again.

Someone yelps. Wu Yi Fan doesn’t look to see the intruder, and neither does the warrior. They stand in their positions, oblivious to the rest of the world, silently drowning in their shared pain as sword and fist remain the same.

*******

**Luhan**

He adjusts his flatsword on his swordbelt. “I can’t bring my Qiang? Not even tonight? Seriously, Tao?” He growls, exasperated at the lack of action in his life.

Tao pats his his brother’s shoulder and stuffs a sweetmeat into his mouth before tying up the blueprint scrolls and placing them on the shelf. “We’re only scouting tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll personally make a visit, and you can tag along.” He finishes with a smirk. “But no killing,” he warns. “Not until I say so.”

And “no killing” means no need of his Qiang. And Luhan loved his Qiang. A lot.

“But it’s not fair! I can’t just lounge around while you go off to woo the future emperor!” He thunders, ruing the day he thought it be best to take this damned job.

Tao just chuckles, strapping his scabbard onto his waist. “Patience, gege. Just a few more days of looking around, and then we’ll attack. I’ll let you have the prince, OK? I’ll torture the cousin and let Woon finish it.”

At that, there’s a sudden jump in Luhan’s throat. “No,” he waves dismissively, a small tremor of shock coursing through his veins. “You take the prince. I’ll handle the cousin. Let’s just hurry it up, OK? I need some damned albacore in my life and they’re only nicely done on Jeju.”

“I’ll take you shopping tomorrow,” the younger man quirks before pressing a light kiss to the older man’s forehead and ambling off.

“Yes, yes you will.” He grumbles, following the younger out of the guild and into the darkness of the night.

The night is cold. Though winter is fast approaching and the previous nights freezing, there are still the odd flowers and foliage lurking on bushes and grasses. The only garden that would survive the month’s end would be the man made pond and garden beneath the pagoda where Luhan and the rest of the guild bathed. The rivers and streams would freeze up, snow would fall, and Luhan would stay cooped up in his quarters until the sun came out again. He just wasn’t a dreary-day kind of person.

He huffs at his misfortune of being in the wrong season while on a job. He wants to crawl back into the pagoda and play Go with Jin Ju before they both slump over and fall asleep in the throne room. He’d much rather listen to the brown garbed youth sing- he has such a lovely voice -than spend his time prowling the half-begotten castle of some half-begotten king in this half-begotten country. Woe is me, he inwardly cries.

But once they reach the East Palace, Luhan finds himself eager to slip into the compound and go about searching for a certain someone.

“Get familiar with the surroundings,” Tao whispers. “The noble quarters, the barracks, the medic house. I will peruse the rest. When you’re done, go back to the village and stay by the stream. I will meet you there.” And then he’s gone, fluttering with the wind, his lithe figure melding into the shadows of the grand palace.

Luhan follows, his plump lips curling into a bright smile.

*******

**Yixing**

He’s told to stay put in his quarters, but he forgets the order as easily as he forgets to wrap a shawl around his body. He trudges out of the room when the maid’s back is turned, his light feet taking him out of the compound area and away from the guards that are too busy helping the maid fix whatever it is she needs help in. Yixing doesn’t remember what.

He shivers, his feet lightly pattering over the dead leaves as he nears the rocky edges of the water. He should have taken the bridge above, but he’s become a bit daft, so he’d forgotten to take that route and came down the gravel path instead. But then remembers-  _finally_  -that he liked to sit here by the water. Ever since his gege and came into the new land, he’d always enjoyed sitting on the rocks by the large pond.

Before, when he was a bit less daft, he liked to throw pebbles into the water and watch the ripples splay across the surface. But he doesn’t really remember that now, so when he sits down on the rock, he simply sits. Still and calm, the wind lightly drawing bits of his brown locks towards his face, silently fiddling with the pale green cloth that covered his stitches and scars.

And he tries to remember. Tries to remember all the things he’s forgotten and beginning to forget.

He never believed in angels and demons before that particular night in the wheat fields. He knew there were gods, but certainly not angels and demons. Gods were transcendent figures. They existed, but only to invoke fear into the hearts of mortals, not necessarily  _inflict_ such. Angels and demons were supposedly the direct practitioners of the rites of the gods. Angels would perform the miracles, while the demons would perform the evil.

He hadn’t believed until that night. He hadn’t believed until he’d seen a fleeting shadow strike the woman and send her crumpling to the ground. He hadn’t believed until he felt something strike his head, rendering him useless in someone’s arms.

He hadn’t believed until cold, dead fingers held his face in place as a sharp blade tore his skin from its very seams, ripping nerves and tissue all the way.

He hadn’t believed until he felt the pain- the cold, biting pain.

The pain persists even now, two weeks later. But Yixing’s learned his lesson. He will never  _not_  believe in monsters and saints ever again. Because he’d been in the presence of a demon. And he’d been in the presence of an angel.

An angel with a smile blinding enough to cause Yixing to try and  _remember_.

But the sad thing is that he  _does_  remember. He remembers everything, but he’s just too daft to say anything out loud and put the the pieces together. The pieces are really difficult to put together sometimes and he want to scream and tear out his hair when he knows something but can’t bring the answer to his lips.

But he never does tear out his brown locks. He just spaces out to, trying to recall a time when he wasn’t soo… addled. Because Yixing isn’t as dumb as he looks. He simply a little misguided and has trouble formulating things now. And because he likes to think. And so he does.

The angel with the bright smile and the kooky hair and the equally peculiar style told him to embrace his ugliness. Yixing tries because he knows angels are supposed to perform miracles, and who is he to try and hinder an angel from working his magic? He fingers the pale green woven cloth tied around his face and blinks slowly.

It isn’t as if Yixing doesn’t remember how beautiful he was before, because he does. He was very beautiful. He’d caught the eyes of several young women and a certain warlord who wanted nothing more than to have Yixing squirming beneath him. That’s why gege had dragged him here with him, because then they would be safe from the monsters in their homeland. Gege was always afraid of monsters like the warlord. In fact, gege seemed to be _afraid_ of himself sometimes, Yixing remembered. Gege almost killed a pageboy for trying to touch a kitchen girl, he recalls, but stopped in due time. There was something in him not even Yixing could hope to try and assuage.

Gege with the deep, amber brown eyes and the permanent scowl etched on his face- even he understood that angels and demons existed in the world long before the incident. Yixing only wishes he’d listened to the older man when he said that the night was evil and that he should never tread outside alone because he was pretty. Too pretty. But that day, hours before the incident, Yixing had told his older, lord cousin that he was stronger and faster and that he could protect his own dignity. And so he’d sneaked out to do the wheat field with the guards and Min Seok.

He should have listened to gege. Not only had he lost his beauty, but most of his ability to form coherent thoughts. It was depressing, to say the least, but the angel was here. He’d told Yixing what to do, and do it he would. He lets his frosted fingers ghost over the stitched flesh underneath the cloth with the butterflies stitched on the sides. It stings when he presses fingers against it, but it warms underneath his touch. His scars, his ugliness. His new found beauty.

He gets up because it’s cold and he has no shawl and his shoes are too thin. The demon’s fingers were cold like a dead man’s, colder than tonight. He doesn’t want to feel cold anymore. He’ll come back later with the others. Maybe the angel will visit him here one day- him with the awkwardly bright bangs and the braid trailing at the back. Maybe gege will bring food too, and Yixing will be able to eat without hurting his cheeks. But for now, he has to leave. It’s simply too cold.

As he walks away, the cloth at the end of his robe gets stuck on a jagged edge of a rock. He doesn’t fully realize the extent of the cloth’s attachment to the object, and doesn’t give it mind. It’ll come undone if I just pull it, he thinks.

That is, until the rock retaliates and pulls the cloth back as harshly as the man who pulled it away. Back and right into the water.

All he feels is the freezing waves clutching to him like a second skin. The gushing liquid runs into his slightly open mouth, filling his throat and gagging him. He cloth comes undone from the rock as he flails desperately, trying to get his head above the water. But he can’t. His weight pulls him down and he’s cold, and afraid, and now he’s really going to  _die_.

He doesn’t sink since the water is shallow. He begins to feel himself float away from the rocky edge and slink towards the middle, away from escape. And it’s simply too cold for him to swim back and climb out. Too cold. He lets his eyes slip close as he begins to drift away.

They open, however, seconds later when he feels a strong arm grab a hold of his waist and pull him out of the water. They snap open and he’s coughing up water and he’s shaking and it’s cold and the arm never lets go.

He turns just in time to see familiar bleached bangs and a beautiful smile. He blinks one last time before the darkness pulls him away.

*******

**Chapter Epilogue**

The demon masquerading as the angel carries the shivering and collapsed nobleman back to the compound as efficiently as it can. The maid and guards are gone, presumably looking for the young lord, so it’s easy for the monster to amble into the compound noticed. But it hears echoes and stomping, so it doesn’t make it all the way inside the noble’s quarters. It gently places the soaked man onto the muddy ground at the entrance and leaves quietly and unseen.

When the demon meets its brother in the village, it’s questioned on its wet attire, to which the demon scoffs off as a quick dive in the stream. Puzzled, the younger one lets it be. They begin their way home, both satisfied with their deeds for the night.

A wet, woven cloth with two butterflies stitched on the sides is neatly folded and snuggled in the breast flap of the demon’s robe.

But the one the beautiful cloth belongs to is left behind, wet and heaving; the one the demon thinks is in safe hands and intends to visit tomorrow.

No one notices six figures in dark blue clothes and scarves materialize into the compound. No one from the outside sees them strangle the old maid and dismember the guards meant to protect Chen Yixing’s quarters.

Wu Yi Fan and Min Seok, who come to visit their brother, enter to see Yixing’s compound bathed in blood, body parts, and filth. The cousin, feverish and unknown hardly breathing, lays where the demon left him.

But now there’s a short sword embedded in his stomach, blood staining his drenched body and the remains of his fading heartbeat.

There’s a scream. Wu Yi Fan screams- screams until he can’t scream anymore.

*******

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to clarify Yixing’s mental condition. His behavior stems from both blunt force trauma (actual injury), and post traumatic stress disorder.


	5. Chapter 5

**Tao**

There are many things and people out there that Huang Zi Tao despises. One of the most prominent figures on the list is his dearly departed mother. But not even she can come close to what he truly despised the most.

Huang Zi Tao hates liars. He hates lies. He  _hates_  them.

“Gege,” he repeats in a steely tone. “Tell me you didn’t.”

The smell of the morning bread wafts into the hall where four figures are positioned, one speaking and the other three remaining as quiet as wind that hasn’t dared enter through the vents on the ceiling yet. But the man spoken to is shaking silently- shaking as a leaf would shake in the presence of a chill.

“ _What?_ ” He screeches, spittle flying from his mouth, his eyes narrowed to to the thinnest slits. “ _Of course_  I didn’t. Why the hell would I break protocol!?”

The Earth Lord flinches at the rise in volume and scratches her scalp as Gu Hyang purses her lips into a thin line.

“You were the last one there.” He grinds out. “And you brought the noble’s mask with you. Gu Hyang-sshi says they found him half dead in the night.” His coal black eyes bear into his brother’s brown ones, searching for his guilt. “You said we should always kill the ones we love, gege.” He adds softly. “I would have let you. All you had to do was  _wait._ ”

The expression that falls on Huang Luhan’s after the accusation is something neither Jin Ju nor Gu Hyang will ever forget in their lives. Gu Hyang has only seen that kind of look once before- when her Sky Lord had offered the warrior Baek Dong Soo a chance to become his consort, only to be stabbed in the shoulder and spurned. Hwang Jin Ju witnessed that same betrayal in the former Sky Lord’s features when her mother told him that she was the Sword Saint’s daughter. Huang Zi Tao, however, is too busy being silently furious to notice the pain creep into the older man’s eyes.

“You think I’m lying?” He asks, oddly quiet.

Huang Zi Tao doesn’t know what to think. “Your bloodlust knows no any boundaries. How am I supposed to trust you now, gege?” He asks, the spite bubbling in his chest. “Six people were slaughtered and the seventh is teetering on the edge. You were in charge. You promised me you wouldn’t kill. You agreed you wouldn’t. YOU WERE’NT SUPPOSED TO KILL!” He thunders.

Huang Zi Tao doesn’t realize what he’s done until he feels his knuckles begin to ache. Gu Hyang’s eyes are closed and turned away, while the Earth Lord’s mouth is agape in utter shock. The smell of the fresh bread mixes with the scent of grilled fish. A gentle zephyr trickles its way in from above, and he feels the pain in his hand heighten.

When Huang Zi Tao blinks back into reality, he sees a trickle of blood escaping the side of his brother’s mouth. He looks down at his hand, blinks, and looks back up.

Dead eyes stare back blankly in response, and the braided man with the bleached bangs patters away. Gu Hyang goes the opposite way. Hwang Jin Ju gives him one last, pitiful look before retreating back to the throne room.

Huang Zi Tao blinks again. He hasn’t hit his brother in years.

*******

**Dong Soo**

The blood that stained the compound took the entirety of the night to wipe off. The body parts were quickly wrapped up and sent for cremation, while doctors from Jong Dae’s quarters flocked over to Yixing’s and back.

There was mayhem everywhere. The initial blame was pinned on the assassins who attacked the four young men, and it would remain that way until things cooled over and Dong Soo figured out what exactly was going on. The rumors were alight. Maids blamed the Chinaman’s heritage as to why their poor, Joseon lords Min Seok and Jong Dae had to suffer. The soldiers blamed Dong Soo for failing yet again. Dong Soo blamed the gods.

“How many do you think?” The Finance Minister asks, thumbing over the hilt of the shortsword that had been used to stab the Chinese nobleman. They’re in the forest- away from civilization and free to speak openly.

“I’d say maybe five.”

“Are you sure?”

Dong Soo nods. “There were five guards and one maid. The young lord was soaked to the bone before he was stabbed. My belief is that he was lured out to the pond, the guards and maid slaughtered while he was gone, and then dragged back in. It could have been done with three, but there are different footprints everywhere. Worse, there’s a print that belongs to shoes sold in the village’s market square, so I’m guessing the nin that lured him away was in disguise.”

Cho Rip rubs his temples. “Why not just kill him in the water then? Let his body float until the morning. Saves the trip of dragging the kid back and stabbing him in the compound.”

He shakes his head. “They ripped out tongues, paralyzed, crippled, and disfigured people. Dragging back a man dunked in water and then stabbing him is… child’s play.”

“You think it could be someone else?” Cho Rip questions, giving the sword one last look.

“I can’t say for sure,” he finishes, exhaling harshly. “We have bodies now. Before we had mangled human beings, but they’re still breathing. But this- this is outright murder.”

Cho Rip wiped his hands with a handkerchief. “What did the king say?”

Dong Soo doesn’t try to think about the young man who’s taken a heavy liking to sake. “He’s blaming himself again. Last night, he kept me to go over what I’d be able to offer Heuksa Chorong in exchange for their assistance. Wu Yi Fan sat with me and we went over the tenets for the fifth time until Min Seok-sshi’s manservant asked for the young lord. I should have gone, but the king held me back. Wu Yi Fan left with the boy.”

“And then the screams.” Cho Rip finishes. “Woke up the soldiers in the east barrack, and they were another compound over.”

“Five guards, Cho Rip-ah. Five guards slaughtered effortlessly,” he sighs. “How can we do anything if the security isn’t even up to par? We need the assassins guiding us, and th-”

“Doesn’t it seem strange though?” Cho Rip cuts off. “The prince hasn’t been hurt once.” Dong Soo’s eyes widen. “Does it count that he’s the one who just happens to witness all the ill will instead of actually being  _inflicted_  with it?”

“If the group from last night is different from the group from the wheat fields, I’d say that their targets are the same,” Dong Soo concludes.

“But then what sets them apart? And why is Wu Yi Fan the odd man out when he should be the one the swords come swinging towards?”

“Yixing Chen would have died last night had Min Seok-sshi not asked the young lord to accompany him to the compound. Found ten minutes later, and the boy would already be sitting the heavens.”

“So it’s direct kill for one, and torture for the other.”

“And Wu Yi Fan could be next.”

“Or it could be him,” Cho Rip finishes.

Dong Soo is stunned. “ _What?_ ”

Cho Rip rose an eyebrow. “He hasn’t physically gotten attacked once, Dong Soo-yah. He  _has_  to own one of the companies. Maybe the one from the wheat fields. Yes, probably that one. Maybe not this one, and if that’s so, then he’s going to die. Last night’s assassins are the type that know when a job is on its way to being finished. They won’t waste their time gutting Yixing Chen. They’re going to let an infection set in- just imagine the things they could have done to him in the water, slipped all types of poison down his throat -and let him die moaning in pain. He’s been forgotten. If Wu Yi Fan is their next target, they’re going to do him one worse- that is, if they aren’t under his command.”

“But the other band, the one from the wheat fields. They attacked Yixing Chen, even though he has no precedence at court back in their homeland. Min Seok and Jong Dae are also politically irrelevant. Just why would he send torturers after three innocent boys when they haven’t gotten a single claim on him?”

Cho Rip crinkles his nose. “You said that boy was like you.”

Dong Soo is taken aback. “That has nothing to do with that!” He snaps furiously.

“What if they know, Dong Soo-yah? What if they know and threatened to tell?”

Dong Soo is at a loss for words. “To his own  _cousin_?” He manages to make out.

Cho Rip shrugs. “The Dowager Queen had no problems attempting to poison her aging husband. What’s a a mere  _cousin_ to a prince?”

Dong Soo shakes his head. “No, he wouldn’t. I spoke to him; I understand him, Cho Rip. I understand what he’s going through. But the cruelty in him doesn’t burn to hurt his brothers- it burns  _for_ them. He intends to inflict pain on all those who’ve inflicted pain on them. I’ve seen it in his eyes, Cho Rip-ah.”

“If that’s true, then he isn’t so different from Woon after all.”

A silence befalls Dong Soo.

“If I were you, I’d keep both eyes on him.” The Finance Minister continues. “There’s more to him other than his taste for men. That evil in his heart? It’ll fester. It’ll fester and eat away at his humanity until there’s nothing but bones left. Let’s say that neither of the companies were under him- fine. But he’s  _still_  what he is, and he’s  _angry_  about it. He hates himself. If that isn’t another Woon in the making, then I don’t know what is. His is a bleak future.”

And with that, the Finance Minister departs, leaving the man to his own in the desolate forest, the perpetrator’s sword resting on a mat on the dry, cold earth. Dong Soo takes deep breaths, focusing his thoughts.

But despite being in such a stupor, the light drop of the figure behind him still doesn’t escape his ears.

“You came.” He growls, suddenly very enraged. He doesn’t have to turn around to look at who it is. He already knows. He’s always known.

“Good morning, Dong Soo-yah.” A soft, lolling voice drifts to his ears, instantly calming down his nerves. When he turns around, all he can do is stare.

It’s been eight years since he’s last laid eyes on the Sky Lord.

*******

**Yeo Woon**

His soft, pained eyes are enough to make him want to forgo standard procedure and just hold him against his chest. He wants to bury his head in the curly brown locks and listen to his heartbeat. He wants one more chance to kiss him and tell him how much he truly loves him.

Because nothing will ever be as true as when Yeo Woon tells Baek Dong Soo that he loves him.

“Yeo.. Woon,” the dusky skinned man breathes, as if he’s saying it for the first time.

Yeo Woon blinks away the tears. “It’s good to see you again, old friend.”

Because that’s all they are now. Maybe not even, but Yeo Woon likes to think that there’s still an inkling of affection left for him in the man’s heart.

Dong Soo nods, straightening his posture. “Thank you for meeting me here. I didn’t think you received the message.”

Yeo Woon blinks. Of course he got it. The small scroll was pinned to a tree by the waterfall where he sat and cried sometimes- the same waterfall they’d made love in several times and washed themselves in afterwards.

“I found it by happenstance,” he lies. “It said to find you, and so I did.”

_I’ll always find you._

“I’m glad you did,” he responds with a slight frown. “It’s important. I need your help.”

He has a feeling he knows what the man wants. What Yeo Woon wants is to simply kiss him till his breath runs out. What Yeo Woon wants is to whisk him away to a different world where they can live without fear and persecution. What Yeo Woon wants is love.

But Yeo Woon isn’t as selfish as he used to be. “What is it that ails you? I will try my hardest to rectify the situation.”

The darkly tanned man takes a seat next to the weapon, and gestures for Yeo Woon to come sit next to him. Yeo Woon does. His scent, at such a close proximity, is intoxicating.

“We’re under attack by multiple hitmen,” he clambered, desperation creeping into the crevices of his voice. “The King and his nobles are in grave danger. They’re not corrupt officials, Un-ah. They’re children. They’ve torn flesh off a young boy’s face. Another group almost killed him last night. I don’t know who’s hired them, or if they’re even after the same, main target. All I know is that they’ve outsmarted the court enough times to put each and every of the young noblemen at death’s door. The boy with torn face could die tonight.” He finishes, gasping for breath.

“Are you sure they’re assassins?” He asks tentatively. The torturers are his brothers. The others? Yeo Woon’s made new enemies.

“Yes,” he affirms, nodding his head steadily. “An assassin attacked a squad of routine soldiers in the wheat fields a few weeks ago. They visited again during the festival and hurt the younger brother of one of the victims. Last night, a victim from the wheat fields incident was almost murdered on his doorstep. Guards and a maid were found slaughtered instead of tortured the previous two times. Surely they’re two different groups.”

They are, Yeo Woon knows. They definitely are.

“If there are multiple groups after roughly the same people-” he says slowly as to let it sink in. “-then that means there’s something between the assassins themselves. No master would be daft enough to pit assassins against themselves- not unless they want to die.”

The lie rolls off his tongue effortlessly and Dong Soo sits there, slightly awed. Yeo Woon inwardly fumes. There is a master dumb enough to pit demons against each other. If what Dong Soo was telling was indeed correct, then the two Chinamen in his castle were in danger.

Yeo Woon’s brothers were in danger.

“Can you help us?” The warrior pleads. “These are kids, Un-ah. We try to protect them the best we can, but these being just slip in and out, quicker than shadows. We can’t afford any more blood split. We’re prepared to pay you whatever tribute it is you desire.”

But Yeo Woon only desires him, and that’s the only thing he’ll never get.

“No,” whispers. “This is war between two assassins. If I get involved, then I jeapordize the wellbeing of my people.” And they were in jeapody already. If these assassins were really out to kill the very ones Tao had promised ceaselessly that he would only play with, then there was a war at hand.They were already involved. He needed to inform Jin Ju as soon as possible.

Baek Dong Soo is stunned, but his expression changes and rage flickers beneath the depth of his eyes. “They’re children,” he repeats, his voice deathly calm. “If you can’t send your men- then come by yourself. I will protect you, so as long as you protect them.”

But I’m protecting you, he wants to scream. I’ve always protected you, he wants to yell.  _You. Always you._

“I cannot,” he says, leaving no more room for discussion. “I am sorry to hear the nobles in your court are suffering, but by the likes of it, it sounds like the assassins might end up offing themselves before they manage to kill your charges. And protect them yourself, if they matter so much to you,” he adds harshly. “You’re the savior, are you not? If I dabbled in your games, I might just end up killing someone just by sheer instinct.” And with that, he stands to leave.

But an hand tightly winds itself around Yeo Woon’s arm before he can walk away. All he wants to do is buckle his knees and weep.

“Have you lost the last bit of humanity you had left, Un-ah? When did it leave you? Was it after I left? Or was it the night I stabbed you?”

It’s still here, he wants to screech.

“When you turned me away,” he lies. “And now I have others to care for, Warrior Baek Dong Soo. I won’t leave my guild to a cruel fate just because  _you_  think it’s necessary. The guilds that are lusting after your court’s blood can have it. I’ll deal with them if they step into my territory.”

The grip loosens and the hand pulls away. A sudden emptiness overtakes Yeo Woon. The warrior doesn’t utter another word.

Yeo Woon leaves with tears in his eyes.

*******

**Luhan**

He doesn’t bother putting a cold compress on cheek. Throughout the day, the flesh becomes soft, then hard, eventually bruising purple and blue.

Instead, he spends his day preparing medicinal mixtures from the myriad of herbs and spices he’s found in the garden below and around the castle. With a few sprinkles of his own dried items from the places he worked around the world, he has tube of salve and a pouch of herbs prepared by lunchtime.

The older woman with the an orange binyeo fastened into her chignon sits with him, silently finishing her scrolls while he washes the mortar and pestle in a basin filled with boiled water.

“Sweettarts tonight, Gu Hyang-sshi,” he laughs, winking at her. “I helped ajumma carry the fruits back a few nights ago. You’re going to love them.”

She scrunches her nose. “Do you intend to combat your brother’s claims?” She snaps, not bothering to watch her tone.

“He’ll get over it,” he shrugs. “I didn’t kill anyone last night, or for the past month. If I had, there would be a feast every other night.” He cackles, his heart wre3nching in his chest.

“He’s just a boy. Put him in his place,” she says, pursing his lips.

Luhan rises an eyebrow before shaking his hands and drying off his wet hands. “He’s a baby, Gu Hyang-sshi. I can’t hit my baby brother.” He hasn’t. Ever. He doesn’t intend to start today.

“He embarrassed you in front of a queen. Teach him some respect.” She insists.

He swipes the quill and scroll out of her reach, and slinks close to her. By the time there at the same eye level, he’s practically sitting on her lap.

“He’s a baby, Gu Hyang-sshi.” He pouts. “So don’t be mad , OK? You’re too cute to be angry.” He smiles, pinching her nose thus causing a dangerous shade of red to bubble onto her cheeks.

The woman is far too flustered by the close contact to reply, so he slides away, sauntering over to his pouch and tube, quelling the sadness in his heart. After securing his items onto his waist, he waves the older woman goodbye before slipping away for some food before his night’s trip.

“Hyung.”

The uneasy word comes off tentative but firm. Luhan turns around to see the Sky Lord in all his dark and brooding glory.

“Woon-sshi, what can I do you for?”

“Come with me please,” he asks once, before turning around.

Luhan follows dutifully, burying the pain that wants to bubble over from earlier in the day.

**~*~**

“Of course there are new killers.” Luhan drawls, playing with the pouch on his waist. “I guessed. Too bad I didn’t stay a little longer- then I really would have killed.” He finishes, a dark glint in his eyes.

“You’re both in danger, hyung. It would be best if you stayed away from the palace these next few days.” The younger man pleads.

“So you can do get yourself killed protecting your warrior?” Luhan guffaws. “Taozi would  _really_  have my head then.”

“I heard what happened,” the Sky Lord insinuates. “I will speak to Tao. But please, you must stay home tonight. The boy will be safe. I will guard him  _and_  Dong Soo.”

“Always the saint,” he chuckles in response. “But you’re not dying tonight.”

“So you’ll go regardless?”

“Duh. I didn’t spend the entire morning and afternoon slaving over nothing you know,” he says, pointing to the pouch and tube on his waist.

“I’m guessing Tao won’t be accompanying us tonight.” The younger man states.

Luhan shrugs, picking himself off the pillow and sauntering away. “Not unless he wants to spend quality time with his prince.”

And with that, he’s off for his much needed food.

*******

**Yi Fan**

The unscented candles help cast his dim shadow over the colored cloth hanging on the tapered wall. The low flames don’t irk his vision, being used to it for so long. He continues to let his quill drift over the scroll as characters imprint themselves onto it. Periodically, his eyes shift up and over to his slumbering cousin who has yet to wake up.

_I don’t know if it will only get worse, or if there’s a way for us to beat this_ , he writes.  _Yixing can only take so much, and the others don’t speak to me as often as they did before_ , he continues.  _They blame me_ , he adds.

And they do, Yi Fan knows, because he has sharp ears and even sharper eyes. He’s heard the servants whisper; he sees the foot soldiers littered in the yard shy away from him.

He’s seen Yang Cho Rip give him the most scrutinizing look-over- and the quickest. The picture of a brief flicker of suspicion is embedded into Yi Fan’s mind. He hates the man for thinking he could be a part of these attacks, but he understands.

He had yet to be dragged down, beaten, and stabbed. When he was, then they’d start thinking differently. Or maybe it would get worse. At this point, he hadn’t a clue. All he can do I finish the letter and make sure it got to his mentor back home.

Then, maybe, things would start to make a little more sense.

“Young lord,” a low voice calls from outside. “The warrior wishes to speak to you.”

Yi Fan wraps the scroll still wet with ink and places it into the inside of his robe. He blows out the three candles and softly patters out of the room, sliding the door shut behind him.

“Warrior,” he calls fimly.

The older man- his clothes crisp and charp, his hair tied loosely with wisp curling around his eyes- turns to the prince and bows lights. “Young lord.”

“You wished to see me?”

One nod and the other guards are waved off. Yi Fan takes a seat in front of Yixing’s door, and beckons for the warrior to sit next to him.

**~*~**

“He denied you?” He blinks quizzically. The notion seemed impossible.

But the older man sidesteps the question. “He won’t guard you or your brothers, and he won’t send aid. He intends to only guard me from danger.” He seethes.

Selfish but brilliant, Yi Fan thinks. He couldn’t help but agree with the dark lord. Why bother with the baggage when the prize needed help first? He’d have done the same if the crux of it came down to the well being of Yixing, his mother, and the two younger men versus the well being of the rest of the world.

“What are we going to do, then? They could be coming for the others right now,” he insists.

It physically pains him to think Min Seok having to go through any more torture. There’s something hollow in him now. The younger man doesn’t eat at much as he used to, his once full cheeks now rendered bony and discolored. And since last night, he hasn’t left his brother’s quarters. Since Yixing was found, Min Seok hobbled back to Jong Dae’s compound as fast as he could, and refused to leave room thereafter.

_Like sitting ducks._  If people were to die tonight, they’d be the first to go.

“Go to Min Seok and Jong Dae, warrior,” he finally orders.

“No!” He refuses almost instantly. “I will stay here with you.”

Yi Fan shakes his head. “If you stay here with me, then they’ll get hurt. Those assassins  _knew_  you weren’t guarding anyone last night, warrior. They most likely attacked Yixing because he was the one farthest from your range of hearing. If you stay with me tonight, then they’ll attack the other two. You know they will.”

“If I go, who will guard you then?” He grits through clenched teeth.

“I can guard myself,” he deadpans. “And I can guard Yixing. No one will die tonight on our watch, warrior, if only we can do this together.”

Yi Fan knows he makes sense because the older man has to close his eyes and take a deep breath before opening them again and nodding. “As you wish, young lord.”

With that, the older man rises and walks away from Yi Fan. He turns back to the sliding door and slightly opens it, taking a peek into the dark room lightened only by specks of a moonlight.

The man with the stitched face snores softly in his dreamless sleep, and Yi Fan shuts the door and locks the latch tightly before turning around and bringing his knees up to his chin.

He will wait till dawn breaks and the monsters go away.

*******

**Tao**

When he hears the first part of the news, tears well up in his eyes.

Because, really. He hasn’t hit his brother since he was sixteen and that was only because he didn’t know where their house cat went and his brother was a bit of a loony even back then. He’d socked him in the stomach, stomped his feet, and screeched profanities into the horizon in order to get answers. When denied, he threw another fit and the older man slipped out into the night and didn’t return home till the following morning. Turned out the cat was sleeping in a basket in the cookhouse and forgot to mewl when Tao came home. Tao ended up crying some more, and Luhan only ruffled his hair afterwards.

This time, it’s worse. Last time, they were alone in a tiny hut on the edges of a dank forest. This time they were in a hall with two women and breakfast cooking in the background. Needless to say, Huang Zi Tao isn’t really proud of his temper right now.

And the second part of the news only worsens it.

“They did  _what!?_ But why! Whyyy! Is Un-ah deaf HOW COULD HE JUST FOLLOW HIM THERE!?”

Jin Ju scratches the inside of her ear and chuckles hesitantly. “Woonie’s always been… driven, in regards to Dong Soo-yah. Don’t mind him. He’ll be back. Though, if he loses an arm or a leg, I’ll gladly tear off the other one.” She muses.

But he knows she’s ready. Heuksa Chorong’s soldiers can’t pile up there, otherwise it’s another war in the making against the nobles. So Jin Ju’s dressed in her best peasant’s clothes, her father’s broadsword sheathed and slinging on her back by a thick, looped cloth. She looks pretty and jovial, her hair bisected into two pony tails, each hanging loosely on her shoulders.

“Murderers, Jin Ju.” He grinds through his teeth. “Are they  _daft?_ ”

Jin Ju shrugs. “I’m used to his outbursts. You should see him during the summer season when the rebels are really rowdy. Sometimes I have to carry him home after he’s wiped out fifty or sixty men and can’t work his legs long enough to bring himself home.” She sighs painfully slowly. “So tiresome.”

And he knows his brother is just as insane- if not a tad bit more. But he can’t help the guilt that bubbles somewhere beneath his skin. He gulps again, blinking back the hot liquid that threatens to spill over.

In their eighteen years of going around and making humanity miserable, Huang Luhan has never lost a battle in his life. But then again, all his major battles were fought with the help of his trusty Qiang, which sat morosely in the corner of their quarters right now. Only the flatsword was gone, and that was as useless as the bell that towed for lunch because the assassins would already be piling into the dining hall because of their sharp sense of smell.

And then the tears do come, and the Earth Lord silently rubs his back, letting him sob into his palms.

“They’ll be fine,” she assures him. “And if things go wrong, I’ll be there.”

He sniffles. “Won’t be neccesary,” he manages to utter, voice breaking. “I-I’ll get dressed and we can go.”

Jin Ju shrugs. “It’s fine. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. And it’s not really an official visit, to tell you the truth. They’re lovestruck idiots making it worse for a wife and a brother. So god damn tiresome.”

Tao blinks, the tears suddenly coming to a stop. “He- he  _what_?”

“You didn’t know?” She asks, surprise etching her face. “Uh…” she starts. “I heard from Gu Hyang that he made medicine all day and afternoon for the boy. For his wounds, I think. And Woonie was already going to stalk Dong Soo tonight anyway, so they kind of just… went together. You know, extra caution and all that.”

They stare at each other for the longest time.

“Really!” She guffaws uncomfortably. “They’ll be fine.”

But his gege won’t be, he knows. And neither will Yeo Woon. The new batch of assassins are only a mere side show. The issue at hand is one Tao is very familiar with but continually despises whenever it comes up.

Love. His gege was in love. Again. Didn’t help that his sworn brother was also whipped.

“God  _damn_  it!” He curses, surprising Jin Ju. “I was only trying to hurt him this morning. I didn’t really mean that he’d fallen for him!” He turns to the woman and grabs her shoulders. “Tell me it isn’t so! He didn’t!”

“B-but he did.” She sputters. “At least, that what Gu Hyang told me and she was with him the whole day. Said he did it while humming and that the ajummas provided most of the items he needed. Didn’t even take time to put ice on his bruise.”

At that Tao face falls even further.

“He didn’t treat the wound?” He whispers heartbroken.

“It was just a bump,” she mutters. “She said he was smiling and happy.” She tells him, cutting out the part where Gu Hyang mentioned that his eyes were hollow and broke. “I think he forgot about it while preparing the concoctions. Don’t fret over it.”

As if that’s enough to stop the twenty-eight year old, six feet tall man. Right now, he’s a mixture of resentment, guilt, pain, and worry. He wants to break down a wall. No, ignore that. He wants to scratch Baek Dong Soo’s eyes out and personally remove each and every appendage belonging to Yixing Chen without killing him.

Love. It’s struck again. This is the seventh time in Huang Luhan’s life.

The first time happened at the market, Tao remembers. The receiver of the Emerald Snake’s affections was none other than the boy who made and sold rice cakes next to the ajusshi with the watercress. Tao was twelve then, his brother fifteen. The vendor was eighteen and short, Luhan towering over him like the beast that he was. For six weeks, Tao was  _not_  the object of Luhan’s uncontrollable spending sprees as he left secret presents for the man at his stall everyday. Afterwards, they had to leave, so that was the end of the first romance.

Times two and three coincided with each other. This time, the setting was none other than Jeju Island. The second was a young woman who dove in Jeju’s deep waters to gather albacore. But she was married off that same month, and Huang Luhan immediately fell for her husband. A terrible outcome, as he couldn’t decide between the two, and they had to finish the job quicker than they had planned and left the nearest date. No deaths. Years later when they return for another job, the couple have two children and have never even heard of the Emerald Snake. His gege had a habit of loving in silence.

The fourth time is the gaijin in Edo. Again, the object of his affections hadn’t a clue. That too ended in silent tragedy as the fleet captain’s son sailed back to England as they hopped on a cart and went to Osaka for another job.

The fifth time, it was another woman. A woman about two or three years younger, and pregnant. With no husband and all the shame, the Arabian seamstress lived in her hut on the outskirts of her village, and his gege routinely left food and other goods for her and the baby as her belly swelled and her work became shoddier. She died during childbirth and his gege stole away the babe and gave it to a childless family in the woods surrounding the Kush’s footsteps. She was the only death to count.

The sixth was the reason why the seventh, the current, love was suddenly a problem. The sixth was a prince of Qing Empire, a sickeningly sweet man thirteen years his brothers junior and worse than mango chutney kept out in the sun for too long. He was the first to notice Luhan’s feelings, and he knew exactly what to do with them.

“… He knew exactly what to do,” he whispers to himself, recognizing the gravity of the discovery. Jin Ju’s taken aback. “Tao?” She asks tentatively.

The job was taken, they packed their bags, and away they went to Joseon. Because that  _bitch_  had stolen his gege’s heart. He’d puckered up a smile, probably showed off his thighs, and his gege was smitten, He’d told Tao that very night and two mornings later, they were here.

And now there’s a seventh on his list, the sixth a distant memory. Huang Zi Tao clenches his fists. His anger’s shifted, and suddenly, Yixing Chen and Baek Dong Soo don’t make much of a difference.

“I’ll get my uniform,” breathes. His purple and black ensemble, complete with the dark purple mask of the desert demon Ifrit. “Wait for me, please, Jin Ju?”

She nods and shuffles away, leaving him to his thoughts.

Seven times, he counts off on his fingers. One death out of seven times. It would have been two had Wu Yi Fan and the king’s cousin not shown up in time.

“ _If I’d have loved him, then I would have killed him.”_  His brother had said. His brother had lied.

In all the years that they’d been together, Huang Luhan has never once directly told his brother that he’s been in love, though he’d done the deed seven times in thirty-one years. His brother had told him to kill the one you loved, before you became useless. Kill them, he said, for it was the only way to ensure survival. That’s why their mother is dead.

But Huang Zi Tao is still alive, and his gege had fallen in love seven times. Seven times and he hasn’t confessed once to any of them. One had died, the rest had faded into the past, living their lives as they were meant to as they drifted into obscurity. Seven times, and the one person who figured it out happened to be the one who used it to his advantage. The shock of the revelation sends fire through Huang Zi Tao’s skin.

“ _Little_  Prince.” He hisses.

Huang Zi Tao puts on his purple and black ensemble and ties his mask securely onto his face. After fastening his scabbard, he meets the Earth Lord outside and they begin their way to the castle like the begotten two did a half an hour before.

There are many things Huang Zi Tao despises. His mother is one of them, liars and their lies another. One can also add those who waste khol, which Tao applies generously around his eyes on a daily basis.

But then again, he also hates those who try to hurt his gege. He’s ashamed of what he did earlier in the day, and he’s going to rectify that mistake very soon.

Huang Zi Tao has yet to kill a human being, but he swears deep down that as soon as they land on the outskirts of the port in Shanghai, he’s going to put on his uniform and tell his brother that he needs a few hours to himself.

Then he’s going to find Wu Yi Fan’s younger half brother and _gut him alive_.

There’s a first time for everything, he muses.

*******

**Luhan**

He sees Yeo Woon to Min Seok and Jong Dae first before slipping away towards Yixing Chen’s quarters.

When he spies the prince in front of the room, he curses under his breath. The object of his attention lies beyond a damned door and he couldn’t anything if the man in front of the door was sitting there, always at an advantage to simply slide the door open and peek in.

But a purple figure materializes close by, and Luhan almost chokes on air. His expression underneath the green, jewel embroidered mask is one of surprise.

_Taozi._

He leads the prince away. Luhan blinks between the quarters and his sleuth of a brother. He snickers in approval, understanding the gesture as one begging for forgiveness, and in response, sneaks up to the door, slides it up, and closes it behind him.

He hears swords clash behind him and knows the Prince is in for a fun run.

His attention is then grasped by the beauty lying on his back, his scarred face illuminated by thin slits of moonlight.

“Beauty?” He murmurs to himself. Shyeah, right. So  _not_  a beauty. More like a disfigured monkey. Yes, he tells himself, a disfigured monkey who just happened to need some medicine.

He takes off his mask and tucks it into the breast of his robe before ambling over to the dozing figure.

The threads have been removed, finally, so the dank scars protrude even more harshly than they did before. He lets a finger drift over one, catching the salve applied underneath the tip. He brings it to his nose and sniffs slightly in agreement. Proper salve, correct dosage. The scar would forever be present, but at least the right medicine was being used to combat any incoming infection.

Then his hand travels to his stomach where the flap of the man’s sleeping robe was frayed.

Luhan took a dangerously deep breath before letting his hands do their intended job.

They undo the clasp and spread the cloth to the side, as to catch any drips of medicine or salve. He then begins to quietly lift the sides of the bloodied cloth before snipping away at them. Once they come undone, he gently lifts the younger man’s waist and removes the bloodied bits.

He stirs, but doesn’t wake.

Luhan wipes the sweat off his brows and patters over to the basin of water and grabs a washcloth. He brings them to the slumbering man and places it next to the concoctions he’s unstrapped from his waist.

A slight breeze flutters him. The man below shivers.

Luhan shivers.

Clearing his throat, he begins to wipe the blood and already bloodied herbs from the sword wound. Then, popping open the fabric cap of the tube, he applies a healthy dose of the pasty liquid around the edges of the wound. Then he opens the pouch and pours the crushed and powdered mixture onto the broken flesh.

He hears a gasp, stills, and waits for it to pass. It does, and he tentatively returns to his work.

He takes bandage bundle lying in the corner and unrolls it fully, intending to use it in its entirety. That way the pressure will build and the wound and the medicines will really seep in, healing whatever it managed to touch.

He spreads the man’s legs and nestles himself in between them before gently lifting his hips and placing his bum on his thighs. Slowly but surely, he manages to wrap the entire roll of cloth firmly and securely over the wound before gently lowering the hips back onto the bed.

He rolls off and then hears a scream outside.

His head snaps around. The scream doesn’t belong to Tao, but still. He clambers over to slide the door open until he hears a small shuffle. And then a thump.

Yixing Chen is watching him, his hand clutching his tightly wrapped wound.

All falls silent outside, and Luhan turns away from the pleading eyes and slides the door open slightly. He finds his brother doing… questionable things.

He slides the door close, and turns back to the Chinese nobleman.

“… Angel?” He hears the man whisper in awe.

Luhan wants to facepalm himself. “Stop calling me that,” he snaps, pattering over to the worried man. “Gods, can’t you just sleep? Sleep, just sleep,” he rambles, attempting to fasten the cloth over his bare stomach and chest.

But he fumbles and fails miserably when soft hands wrap around his shaky wrists.

His hands are warm, and Luhan is shivering. “Please,” he hears the younger man whisper.

Please what? He wants to scream. He wants to leave. Now. He jerks his wrists away from the warm grasp. The man below gasps.

Luhan crinkles his nose and gets up-

-only to sit back down when hears the man crying.

He climbs over the thin figure until they’re eye level. Warm breath ghosts over Luhan’s face as the man stares sadly back at him. He feels his fingers ghost over the cut cheeks before they travel to his eyes wipe away warm tears.

“Stop crying,” he mumbles.

When the chapped lips press against his own in response, he freezes.

It lasts for two seconds before the head tiredly slumps back against the pillow. The figure beneath him breathes heavily, mouth shaped in a silent oh.

_Oh_  is all Luhan manages to utter next.

Shaky hands, nimble fingers find themselves creeping around Luhan’s taught figure, pulling him into a light embrace.

An embrace. The nobleman cries softly, his long, spindly arms attemtping to bring Luhan closer. But he stays in place.

And the arms, tired and shaking, fall to their sides. Luhan breathes again.

Then he dips down and kisses the figure beneath him. A slight moan escapes the younger’s lips as the braided man lets a hand ghost over the pearly white skin of his bare chest and stomach. The latter shivers.

When Luhan breaks the kiss, his own eyes are half lidded and glassy. The one beneath him smiles, his cheeks stretching the scars carved into his skin.

And he’s  _beautiful_ , Luhan realizes in awe. The moonlight sheds an unearthly light upon his flushed skin and jagged cheeks, but he’s _beautiful_. So beautiful.

He lets his lips touch his unmarred chest, appreciating the soft moan that escapes the younger man’s lips. Then slowly, but surely, he travels down the length of his body until he reaches the bandage.

He presses a soft kiss to it, and he can  _hear_  the lips of his _lover_  crinkle into another smile. Luhan goes lower until he reaches the man’s thighs. He breathes in his scent before kissing the clothed flesh. He nips, and nuzzles his nose against musky scented flesh until he feels his back arch-

And groan in pain.

He helps the man settle back down and this time, he finishes clasping the knots and pulls the comforter over his body before pressing a kiss to his brow.

“Soon,” he breathes, and the man smiles back before slipping into a pained and intoxicating sleep.

He embraces him one last time before slipping out the flap of the window, not bothering with the entrance. He leaves the last of the salve on a little pot next to the washing basin.

His heart continues to flutter.

*******

**Tao**

When the taller man swings his sword, it cuts through the stretchy fabric of his uniform on his arm. Tao isn’t fazed. This is the crown prince of a hellish empire, after all.

The brown haired male with the deep amber eyes throws a kick his way and he instantly dodges it with with back flip, his sword swinging with him. He lands cleanly on his feet as younger man comes barelling towards him with another well aimed kick.

Tao flies. He springs on his heels and lands behind the crown prince, landing a kick on his shoulder blade in the proces.

What he doesn’t expect is an acupuncture needle to come flying out and almost get him in the throat.

The needle ends up between his index finger and thumb, and suddenly, Tao regrets not bringing his own set. Worst part- he doesn’t even know where the set is. Probably still back in his manse in Shanghai. He hates his life right now.

But the prince hates him more, and he knows this because Tao sees something familiar burn within his honey brown eyes. A white hot rage that could only come out at certain periods in life. The glint of malignancy and pain adds a glimmer to the shiny orbs, and it takes Tao a second to realize that he’s actually admiring them. Their swords clash and Huang Zi Tao keeps an eye out for the needles.

Once they’re in another locked position, unable to move without getting themselves killed, Tao stares into those eyes and tries to decipher what the hell he’s witnessing.

The prince senses his shift of attention and sends a punch his way, sheathing his sword in the midst. Then he produces small kunai with knuckle bars, easily fitted and useful in hand-to-hand combat.

Tao curses under his breath and puts his own blade away before springing on his heels and aiming for a kick to the side of the man’s head. The abnormally large hands wrap around his ankle and bring him down.

Tao rolls painfully onto his side before the kunai studded fist jabs itself into his throat. As the prince misses, Tao lifts his foot and harshly putts it against his knee, causing the man to buckle.

His muscled arm wraps around the toned waist and pulls the taller man down on top of him before he flips him over and pins both his arms behind his back and grinds one padded kneecap into the inner crevices of his thigh while the other holds down a leg.

Their chests are pressed so tightly each other that Ifrit of the Desert can no longer distinguish one heartbeat from another. Beneath the fabric mask, the older man blinks his steely black eyes and gazes firmly into the furious amber orbs.

The prince’s arms shift from underneath, but he only manages to hurt himself as the kunai blades dig into his skin. Hot breath ghosts over the desert demon’s clothed face as the younger winces in pain underneath him. The amber eyes slip close and then open up to stare doggedly back at him.

Hatred, grief, resistance.

Tao understands these emotions. Most of his targets feel the same way. Wu Yi Fan isn’t special.

But then a glaze of something else comes about his expression and Wu Yi Fan  _screams_. Screams so loudly that Tao’s taken aback for the slightest second. So loud that the warrior three compounds down might hear. So loud that he knows his brother will be out shortly and so with no choice hovering around him, he silences the prince with his clothed lips.

And when he does, his tongue manages to slip inside the croaking male underneath and feel the teeth and tongue inside. The latter juts his head up to push the assassin off but Tao keeps pressing.

Resentment, worry, regret.

He feels himself  _drinking_  in his emotions as his tongue explores the warm cavern beneath.

Self-hatred, cruelty, pain.

Pain.

There’s pain everywhere.

When Tao lets go, the Prince is shaking. Though no tears are visible, he knows he’s crying inside. He’s breaking.

This man feels  _pain_.

Out of all the people that Huang Zi Tao has tortured and his brother had finished killing, he’s never met someone with this much pain- this self-loathing that’s consumed the man beneath him and made a monster out of him. The monster that wanted to rip out Tao’s throat and crush him to little pieces.

The same monster that, with half lidded eyes, wants Tao to kill him as well.

This man wanted the assassin to  _kill_  him.

He’s found peculiarity that pulled him towards the prince- the peculiarity that makes his heart thump wildly against his chest.

“What are you?” He hears himself whisper in awe.

No man has ever wanted to die beneath his hands, but this man here did. He wanted to die. Something inside him wanted Tao to run his sword through his heart.

“Kill me,” he hears the latter whisper back pleadingly. “Kill me, but let them go. Please, please let them go.”

Let them go. Let Yixing Chen go, Tao realizes as the shaking man beneath him slackens and closes his eyes in acceptance of his fate. Let Min Seok, the cripple, go. Let the child Jong Dae go, the one with the hundred cuts adorned on his body. Let his brothers go, but take him.

He wants to be taken. He’s been waiting for years now for someone to end his misery. But he wants to go down saving his brothers. Understanding dawns upon Tao.

“And if I take them as well?” Tao tests.

The eyes open and steel themselves as quickly as they had broken seconds before. Bad idea on Tao’s part because the threat wakes up the very monster the prince has been trying to suppress.

The demon awakens and Ifrit of the Sand feels himself being shoved back. His knee loses its hold on his thigh, and he goes flying back. Tao doesn’t realize the gravity of his mistake until he feels the cold steel of Wu Yi Fan’s sword on his neck.

Tao’s faltered, and now he’s about to pay for it.

But instead of instantly running the blade through the soft flesh of his neck, the prince towers over him, the demonic rage fluttering in his eyes like a candle in the wind.

“I gave you a chance,” he states, his voice deathly calm. “You could have freed me and gotten your riches.”

“I would have burdened the heavens,” Tao hears himself bite back. “Someone like you who can’t even accept who you are- you’re too pathetic to even worry about, High Prince.”

Something flickers across his expression. Surprise, is it?

The blade cuts through his skin and sends a stream of blood running down the sides of his throat. The cold sting is harsh though the cut is light and harmless.

“What would you, something less than human, know?” He asks threateningly.

Tao chuckles because this is the most meaningful and longest conversation he’s ever had with a victim. “At least I accept my place at the bottom of humanity’s list, High Prince,” he replies sweetly. “You hate yourself so much you think yourself  _worse_ than my kind and I.” He finishes, pressing the right buttons.

At that, something shatters in the prince’s eyes. Tao catches it. The blade on his neck quivers.

“My job is to inflict misery, High Prince.” He explains, watching the brunt of his words spread more pain across the glassy amber orbs. “But you’re so miserable on your own that attempting to inflict my kind of pain on you physically would only make you  _happy_. So you cannot die nor shall you suffer at my hands because you find enjoyment in the treatment. Because that thing,” he points at the Prince’s chest, “that thing inside you that you hate so much is enough to drive you mad and to your death.  _That_  will be your end, High prince. Consider that your punishment for existing.”

Tao thinks he can hear the Prince’s sanity shatter. Had he been closer, he would have seen the tears well up in his eyes and seen the last of his self-preservation fade away.

But Tao doesn’t notice that because a split second later, blood begins to drip from the prince’s mouth, a blade sticking from his back.

And it’s not his.

*******

**Luhan**

He makes it out in time to see the shadow of the blue garbed assassin appear and stab Wu Yi Fan in his back. As the Emerald Snake gets closer, he witnesses another sword come barelling down, this time aiming for the purple colored figure underneath the blade of the bleeding prince.

Taozi.

Luhan sprints so quickly, he tackles the hitman to the ground, causing him to wrench his blade out of the prince. The Emerald Serpent takes his clawed fingers and digs it into the throat of the perpetrator and pulls, ripping skin and tissue, blood jutting across his green mask and uniform. He shoves the man to the side before turning back to his brother and the fallen prince.

Tao cradles the bleeding figure in his arms. Luhan is shocked. He eyes a swordsman slink in from behind Yixing Chen’s quarters.

Another assassin comes creeping towards his brother.

Two more comes towards him.

Luhan prays to whatever god is left. He then jumps to shield his brother.

*******

**Tao**

He catches him as his knees buckle and the blood spreads. The prince’s breaths come in short gasps as the deep wound spreads sticky, warm liquid onto his palms and arms.

“Prince, High Prince,” he hears himself whisper. His brown hair sticks to his skin as perspiration coats his weakening body. “High Prince,” he feels himself screech quietly. “ _No._ ”

He couldn’t let this man die. Huang Zi Tao did not kill men. Men died because of him when he gave the signal for them to die. They did not die in his arms, nor do they die from wounds he’s inflicted on them. They either kill themselves or get themselves killed by his brother.

They do not die crying for others. They die crying for themselves, but the prince is muttering names- names of people Huang Zi Tao knows very well.

Huang Zi Tao wants to scream and tell this man that he’ll do it. He’ll protect them so as long as he  _lives_.

He’s broken out of his reverie when he feels a warm body jump on him, this shielding both him and the prince. When he blinks back to reality, he sees his brother bombarded with swords. He lets the prince slip from his arms.

_I will come back for you_ , he promises as the half lidded eyes of the prince gaze jarringly back at him, still full of energy and hatred.

And then his sword brandishes itself, and Ifrit of the Sand and the Emerald Serpent of the Dark Isles dance their dance of death.

*******

**Yeo Woon**

He’s gone as soon as he finishes off the sixth assassin while Dong Soo finishes off the others. The boys are safe, watching from the sides as the elder holds the younger one close to his chest. Other guards show up, and Yeo Woon, masked in his black cloth, hurries off to Yixing Chen’s compound.

When he sees the two demons fighting side by side, he’s left in silent awe. Their bodies move gently and swiftly, the swords molding into the bodies of their masters. Had the Emerald Snake’s Qiang been with him, there would be quicker blood and easier escape.

There are more assassins here, Yeo Woon he notes, four on the brothers and an extra twelve or fifteen lurking in the shadows.

_They’re not here for Yixing Chen._

The prince lay bleeding but very much alive. So alive that he manages to pick himself off the dirt and produce his needles which go flying into several of the perpetrators necks, sparing the demons a few opponents.

As Yeo Woon nears them, Jin Ju slips in next to him, breathless and bloodied. Swords go for their throat when they’re ten feet from the Chinamen.

_Wait._

The tip of Jin Ju’s sword meets a torso and a thigh, respectfully. His short swords break out into flurrying slices, cutting fingers, arms, and necks in their movement.

_Wait._

Eight are on them. Ten more emerge from the shadows and creep towards the brothers who continue to glide, slink, and slide up and down as the bleeding prince’s own sword aids them in their plight.

_They’re here for them._

Jin Ju’s eyes widen as more assassins reveal themselves, most of them clinking towards the two brothers and the prince.

_They want **them** dead- the brothers and the prince._

Yeo Woon slices a head clean of its neck. Jin Ju plunges her blade into another’s breast.

Ifrit cuts down another, this one attempting to aim for the prince’s throat. The prince responds by throwing a myriad of needles into more necks, guarding the purple masked man’s back with the sword in his other hand as his own back bleeds freely.

The Emerald Snake hisses as his flatsword strikes a stray assassin across his neck, cutting through his jugular in the process.

Yeo Woon sees blood spray itself everywhere. It isn’t until he feels another presence come into his vicinity that he’s jarred out of his stupor.

Dong Soo’s back is pressed against his as Jin Ju cracks open a skull with the hilt of her weapon.

“Dong Soo?” he whispers feverishly, his heart crumbling.

“I’m here,” he hears him say. “I love you, so please, don’t die."

And they fight their own dance of death.

*******

**Chapter Epilogue**

It’s the Earth Lord who knocks Dong Soo to the ground and out in the end. The Sky Lord breathes heavily, bleeding from a gaping wound in his arm. After ripping off a piece of her tunic and tying it around the man’s arm, she hoists him on her back and begins to carry him away like so many times before.

The Emerald Snake crawls over the torn limbs to the door of the slumbering noble. He snaps the lock and slides the door open, peeking at the man who sleeps soundly in his bed, a flush spread across his cheeks. The demon smiles so brightly the blood on his teeth ceases to matter as the scar faced beauty lingers in the land of dreams.

Ifrit has the prince in his arms again as the younger man bleeds out against him. The prince’s eyes slip close, and the injured demon of the sand tears his mask off his face. He places a kiss upon the brow of the shivering male, whispering how sorry he is and that he can’t die because he’s never killed and he wouldn’t let him die period. He cries soft tears before slumping over him, the bloodloss from his injured neck and hole in his stomach kicking in.

The prince’s eyes flutter open to feel warm tears on his neck to where the demon’s head has slumped against. He feels his arm encircle the man’s waist and pull him closer, whisper  _my monster_  over and over again. He feels the body get torn from his embrace by the green masked man, whose arms obscure the fainted man’s face. He wants to call out to him, and hold his hand. Tell him that he forgives him and if he could  _just please stay and understand him_. Because no one’s understood him since Baek Dong Soo arrived, and this new perso _n understands and why do they all have go away or die so quickly,_  he finds himself whimpering to himself.

And like the wings of a demon, something flutters harshly against Wu Yi Fan’s face as the masked figures retreat with the bodies of their fallen comrades. Heavy cloth and harsh substance. Wu Yi Fan’s fingers shakily open the small and bloodied bag.

Small wuxia figures spill out across his chest, all neatly wrapped like they were when he first purchased them at the festival.

Wu Yi Fan cranes his neck one last time to get a glimpse of the ghostly purple figure that told him the truth of his life.

All he sees is thin air.

*******


	6. Chapter 6

**Yeo Woon**

Three days later and he’s still stuck in the sickroom, the covers pulled to his waist as his diary sits on the nightstand with the inkwell. Tao snores softly to his side, his chest rising and falling in a gentle symphony that sounds oddly comforting to Woon’s ears.

His wife, and darling partner, visits twice a day: once in the morning before work and once in the evening after finishing the duties for the day. Their conversations are clipped and informative, not at all as warm and kindly as Woon had hoped.

He thinks it might be because of the puncture wound on his stomach.

It’s worse for his hospital mate, however. The slightly tanned young man hasn’t once met his brother’s eyes whenever the older man comes to bathe or feed him. It’s depressing for the Chinamen  _and_  Woon because the bleached bangs-wielding man rambles on about this and that, as if having forgotten the entire ordeal. It’s gets even worse when he tends to Woon, because the step in his voice never fades and it reminds him so much of Dong Soo from the past that it starts to physically hurt on his wound.

The man never ceases to amaze him. He knows Gu Hyang feels the same as she contently helps the Chinaman.

On that particular evening, after Jin Ju informs him of the newest raids on the Japanese mercenaries holed up in the north, the two men cooped up in the sickroom decide to make their great escape.

And end up two yards outside of the compound, bundled up in blankets, before the brown garbed youth finds them and apologizes before manhandling them back inside. To their luck, he allows them to sit in the garden and stands watch ten feet away as the two men try to shuffle warmth back into their legs.

“Scary,” Tao flushes, rubbing his arms.

Woon nods in agreement. “I blame Gu Hyang.”

They nod in unison at that.

Woon takes a deep breath and takes in the scent of the fresh flowers in the man-made garden. The warm water soaks their feet and takes away the chill until it gets warm enough for them to shrug off their blankets and simply lounge against the rocks and let their feet get nibbled on by koi fish swimming harmonically below.

“I know who it is.” Tao blurts out.

Woon raises an eyebrow. “Know whom?”

“The one that’s sending the assassins after us.” He fills in. “It’s the little prince of the Qing Empire. He’s the one who offered the job to gege.”

“Why would he try to kill his own assassins?” He asks, a bit confused at the happenings, though the practice wasn’t unusual. Masters had a knack for ruining their own plans.

“Because gege’s in love with him.” He admits. “Err… was in love with him. At the time, he was smitten. Didn’t think twice before agreeing. Told me he’d go solo for the month, but I talked him out of it. If it was in the palace or in the court, I would have agreed. But off to a different country? Too fishy for its own good.”

“Does hyung know?” He asks tentatively.

Tao shakes his head. “He hasn’t put his finger on it.” Tao laughs, clutching his stomach afterwards, attempting to sooth the burning pain in his stomach. “He won’t figure it out until the end. That bastard manipulated him into taking the job because he wanted him out of his hair. And he wants High Prince dead, so two birds with one stone was his plan. Now he has his real assassins out, hoping to kill both us and the Qing nobles.”

Woon watches a dark blue and green scaled fish brush against his toe. “How is it that the High Prince of the dynasty is cooped up in Joseon of all places without special protection,” Woon muses.

Tao chuckles. “The idiot emperor sent High Prince away as a stowaway with his darling daughter. The other nobleman just happened to be a decoy. After he settled into Joseon did the Emperor announce his son was taking a trip to better his knowledge of the areas he would one day have to strengthen relations with.”

“He sent him away to protect him,” Woon understands.

Tao nods. “Four years, the little prince and his older brothers planned while High Prince lived in peace. But there was no way to get out of court and hop on a ship without rousing the emperor’s suspicion. So when we came along to clean out a few troublesome warlords, little prince found his chance.”

“He seduced hyung,” Woon says.

“He seduced gege,” Tao states.

Woon takes a deep breath. “What do you intend to do?”

Tao flicks dirt off his nails and thumbs the wound on his torso. “I’ll wait until the next ship arrives and take it back to Shanghai. When I get to the palace, I’ll kill the little prince and his brothers. Then the attacks will stop, and it will be as if they never existed. Then I’ll return for him, and we will leave.”

Woon blinks. “You will kill?”

_And then they’ll leave._

Tao nods. “I will. Torture them, I will, but they must die.” Tao turns to face him, and though he’s a head taller than Woon, he attempts to meet him eye level. “They’re trying to kill gege because gege knows everything there is to know about them. They think he’s going to spill information to his next client.”

Yeo Woon knows the feeling. As much as masters had a knack for destroying their own plans, they had an even bigger knack for getting themselves killed by their own hired men. Even though it was strictly agreed upon that assassins were to forget their client as soon as the job was done. Information could not be leaked because then there would be guild wars, and guild wars were nasty.

“They don’t know, Un-ah,” he manages, his breaths coming out in hitches.

“Calm down,” he urges.

Tao ignores the plea. “They don’t know how much gege loves the little prince.” He laughs again, and Woon knows the effort is ripping at his stitches. He can see his pain-both inside and out “They don’t know how much gege loves when he  _falls_  in love. Do you see why he can’t find out, Un-ah? If he does, he won’t believe it. He’ll do something rash, and then he’ll get hurt again.”

Tao grabs Woon’s shoulder and pulls him close. Woon can smell the fear on his breath “Do you think I’d let filth like him touch my brother?” He asks, deathly quiet. “I’ve never broken the laws of the dark arts before, Un-ah, but they’re going to kill my brother. I-I can’t let that happen.”

_Just for him?_  The taller man had once asked him.

_For him._  He’d once replied.

Yeo Woon pulls the man into a hug, and he groans, the pain of his stitches intensifying. The brown garbed youth shows up promptly, but Tao slaps his hand away.

“I understand,” Woon hears himself. That seems to be enough because five seconds later, he passes out in his arms with a smile.

Yeo Woon watches as the youth carries the man back to the sickroom, him shuffling dutifully behind them. Once they’re inside, Gu Hyang and Luhan snap their heads around , and the older man is livid and fuming and  _where were you two?_

Gu Hyang helps him into his bed as the older man patters around his brother, relieving his bandages, adding ointment and herbs before wrapping fresh ones around him again. He watches, fascinated by the affection and care as he recalls two people who slaved over those same things years before.

First it was Dong Soo, and then it was Jin Ju. But neither want to be around him anymore. He guesses he deserves the treatment.

But then the Chinamen with the oiled air and long braid festooned with jewels and pins saunters over with a bowl of water and a cloth. Again, he breaks into a ramble, and Yeo Woon simple blinks as he wipes away at his forehead and hands before pulling his covers up and leaving the room.

He snuffs out the candles before leaving. Yeo Woon’s glad because now he can sob in peace.

_They’ll be leaving._

Yeo Woon doesn’t think he has it in him to lose any more friends.

*******

**Dong Soo**

It’s been three days, and still the prince sleeps like the dead. The maids preach death, the court nobles yell for the Qing envoys, and no one thinks to sleep alone anymore. Noble families hole into heavily guarded compounds, others have already run off to their respective summer houses with their best guards. Fear overtakes them all, but Dong Soo knows better.

_You knew._

He hates himself for thinking the Sky Lord didn’t have anything to do with the multiple murders and torture schemes. Worse, he hates himself for believing the cruelty in the other man’s heart had quelled over the years.

It hadn’t, Dong Soo rues.

_Foolish._

He remembers ten years before, when they first made love. His foolishness then had told him that they’d be together forever because love could surpass anything. Two years later when they finally parted, he’d been a fool once more, thinking things would change with the change of scenery and the breaking of bonds.

It’s worsened.

_I hate you._

But in reality, he knows, he hates himself more.

*******

**Jong Dae**

He slides the thin door open to peek into the night, catching glimpse of the warrior, poised and ready in front of Yi Fan’s sickroom. He slides the door shut before turning back to his brothers littered around the slumbering figure of the eldest.

“The envoys from Qing are on their way,” Min Seok whispers, pressing the damp cloth against Yi Fan’s feverish skin while Yixing babbles on about angels to the unconcious man. “But hyung hasn’t woken up yet, and the surgeons don’t think he’ll make it.” He adds morosely, holding back tears.

Jong Dae scratches his bandaged shoulder. “He’ll make it,” he gripes firmly. “And it won’t be for a few weeks till they come. Hyung will be up and about and kicking both our bums in the training grounds by then.”

Yixing squeals and claps about something or another, and Min Seok wipes the sweat off Yi Fan’s face before dipping the cloth back into the hot water. “I know.” He states. “Your attacker wore the green mask right?”

“Yes. Green with jewels embedded into the cloth. He looked like…. a serpent.”

Min Seok blinks. “The performer who touched me- he was our attacker,” he points at Yixing, who’s oblivious to their conversation. “He didn’t have the purple mask on then, but Dong Soo-sshi said was wearing it a few days ago and that he had the same form and fighting style like like the performer did at the circus.”

“Definitely the same person then.” Jong Dae finishes.

At that moment, Yixing begins to get out of breath and coughs into his arm, clutching his wound in the process. Jong Dae squirms over to his side and rubs his back.

“Yixing-hyung,” the younger man soothes. “Would you like some water?” The older man shakes his head and settles into Jong Dae’s chest.

“I think he’s just happy he can talk normally again,” Min Seok purrs, pinching the older man’s nose. Yixing giggles.

“Those stitches must have been hell,” Jong Dae blinks. “At least he can smile now.”

They both nod in agreement when the nobleman squeals again.

“Do you want to hear about my angel?” He asks the two blood brothers excitedly. Jong Dae sighs, while Min Seok shifts closer to the two after pulling Yi Fan’s comforter closer to his chest.

“Sure,” the puffy cheeked man laughs. “Let’s hear it.”

“He has the brightest hair in all the land,” he gushes childishly, and a beautiful braid studded with gems and and pins. It’s like he’s a king that doesn’t need his crown because his hair is so pretty,” he exclaims.

Jong Dae raises an eyebrow, stifling a giggle though deep down, he wants to to hug the older man and cry into his shoulder. “Bright hair is for foreigners,” Jong Dae coos. “Are you telling me your angel is from a land far, far away? Why weren’t we told before, hyung,” he teases.

Yixing blushes, and Min Seok laughs. For a split second, Jong Dae’s older brother turns to the slumbering figure to see if he’d caught the laughter. His eyes remained closed.

Jong Dae coughs into his hand. “What else is special about him,” he asks in mock-seriousness, playing along.

Yixing pouts. “He’s really gentle, even if he has a potty mouth sometimes.”

Min Seok crinkles his nose. “Not good for a king. Every lord is to have flawless eloquence,” he claims, straightening his council and craning his neck out. Jong Dae giggles and Yixing wails.

“He’s very proper! He dresses like a king, you know!” He flushes, scratching his scalp. “He wears emerald skins that glint in the moonlight, and his skin is unmarred. Like porcelain,” he sighs wistfully. Jong Dae gags.

“Does he have wings?” Min Seok asks.

“No,” he replies without a beat. “He doesn’t need them. He can walk on water if he wants to.”

And at that, Min Seok lets out another laugh and now they’re both laughing and Min Seok tickles Yixing and there’s another wail and the warrior’s shadow could be seen attempting to slide the door open and see what was going on.

But Jong Dae freezes.

“What was he wearing again, hyung?” He asks shakily.

Yixing scars stretch grotesquely as he opens his mouth to speak. But Min Seok beats him to it. “Emerald robes,” he jokes.

“With jewels?” Jong Dae hopes.

Yixing shakes his head. “It looks like snakeskin, and really comfortable.” He adds.

Jong Dae blinks. Min Seok catches the the change of expression.

“Jong Dae-ah,” he presses. “What’s wrong?”

“Did he wear a mask, hyung?” He cuts in quickly. “Was he holding a sword? Does he have black boots studded with emeralds?” He asks breathlessly.

Yixing scratches his head. “No, of course not. His face is very pretty. I like his face very much.”

“Jong Dae-ah,” Min Seok tries again.

Jong Dae coughs again, and just hugs the older Chinaman. “It’s nothing, hyung,” he tells his blood brother. “It’s nothing at all.”

Min Seok throws him one more worried look before asking Yixing if he wanted to sleep. The older man yawns and nods, and Min Seok hobbles over to the closet to produce sheets and bedding for the lanky older man. After he’s settled in, he crawls back to the youngest in the room and wraps his arm around his shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” He asks softly.

“He was dressed like a king, hyung,” Jong Dae whispers. “But he was a monster. He cut me down like I was thin air and walked away like nothing happened.”

Min Seok pats his shoulder, bringing him closer. “He just happens to dress like him. And plus, bright hair and a braid? Did you see those?”

Jong Dae shakes his head. “His mask covered his face and his hair was black,” he tells him.

“Then it can’t be him. Yixing-hyung’s angel looks like foreigner. He must be lapsing into his past and forming pictures in his head about people he’s seen before but never met.” Min Seok sighs, looking forlornly at the sleeping Qing noblemen. “He’s living in his own little world now. In a few weeks, they’ll take him away. Do you think they’ll be able to handle him?”

Jong Dae pushes his fears away and looks over to the thin man resting under the covers. “We should tell them to humor him. I mean, he’s like a child.”

“Yi Fan-hyung will take care of him,” Min Seok ends up saying. “When he wakes up, he’ll take care of him.”

**If**  he wakes up, Jong Dae wants to say.

_Emerald skins that glint in the moonlight._

Jong Dae shudders.

*******

**Cho Rip**

“You came.” The nobleman states, setting out the reports on the table.

“I waited for them to fall asleep,” Dong Soo replies. “I’ve asked one of the trio to watch them in the meantime.”

“Has the prince woken up yet?” Dong Soo shakes his head. “Oh well. ” Cho Rip says, waving him over. “Take a look at this.”

The older man ambles over to the long table settled with papers and instruments of all kind. Ji Sun, with her hardened face and harsh hands, stands blankly at the side.

“You’ve deciphered the attacks then?” The older man concludes.

Cho Rip nods. “Six killers, almost sixty assassins hacked to pieces.”

“No insignia on any of them,” Ji Sun adds.

“Just blue cloth doused in the lightest shade of orange or yellow. But no insignia.” Cho Rip brands. “But their slayers- that’s a different story. It’s one I think you’ll be interested in.”

“Yeo Woon and Jin Ju’s fighting style were calculated on at least fifteen bodies.” Ji Sun says, walking over to a conglomerate of papers and their drawings on the far end of the table. “She used the former Sky Lord’s broadsword. The slashes carried out match the same drawings we have from ten years before, collected by the other policemen. Yeo Woon used his shortswds.”

“Fingers, arms, hair, and legs. Sluiced so thinly, it’s as if air cut them off their hosts.” Cho Rip describes. “There’s not another man in this kingdom that can move that fast with his blades- but you already knew that.”

Dong Soo stares impassively at the pictures.

“Your fighting style was found on the bodies of the assassins that went to Min Seok and Jong Dae-sshi’s compound,” Ji Sun continues. “Then they carried over to Yixing Chen’s quarters, like they did Yeo Woon’s and Jin Ju’s.”

“But only three were exclusive to his quarters. One of them you’re familiar with.” The finance minister whispers.

“The prince’s cuts were sluggish but effective. He used his longsword, kunai, spoke-knuckles, needles, and a myriad of other things.” Jin Sun counts off. “At least ten died by his hands.

“But the highest body counts were of the men you said were dressed in green and purple respectfully,” Cho Rip notes.

“Have you figured out who they are?” Dong Soo cuts in. “They killed at least twenty a piece. One used a jiang and the other a flatsword,” Dong Soo answers for them. “I care not about the rest of their statistics. Just tell me if you know who they are.”

“Everyone knows who they are, Dong Soo-yah,” Ji Sun clips harshly. “Had you not frolicked in the mountains, you’d have figured it out on the spot. And you would have noticed that the one in the purple mask killed none, and instead the one in the green killed them all.”

“Their names, agasshi,” he simply asks.

Cho Rip rubs his temple as Ji Sun fumes silently. “Yah. Enough already. They’re Qing assassins, Dong Soo.”

“Understandable,” the warrior states.

“They’re Ifrit of the Sand and the Emerald Serpent of the Dark Isles.” Ji Sun says.

“They’re the most celebrated killer’s in all the lands, spanning from the Arabian deserts, all the way to the clenches of Mount Fiji. These two are  _demons_.” Cho Rip warns.

“The one that hired out their services has called up the devil’s children themselves.” Ji Sun puts in.

“… are you sure?” The warrior asks, a sudden knob in his throat.

“Their way of killing matched the reports we acquired from the northern lands,” Cho Rip states carefully, watching the warrior intently. “And their uniform is universal. The green mask of the snake and the purple mask of the desert demon. Cloth masks, the both of them. Jewels on both, elastic, easy to breathe through and efficient at hiding their features. Am I correct in what you witnessed?”

The warrior nods stiffly.

“His Qiang wasn’t in usage at the time, however,” Ji Sun adds. “But his flatsword’s killed before. And his brother, the one named after Arabian djinn, he’s never killed a soul. He simply taunts, while the Serpent goes in for the kill.”

“Perfect partners in crime,” Cho Rip concludes. “And so very efficient. It was Ifrit of the Sand that attacked the night guard and the two nobles in the wheat fields.”

“We have news that they may have landed a few days before the first attack. “ Ji Sun shows him a report with the northern assassin guild’s insignia. “And that they had help finding out the location of the night guard’s rounds.”

“The Painted Flower Queen of the northern guild assures us it wasn’t her troupe,” Cho Rip guffaws. “So to appease our hearts, she sent us accounts of a Chinese ship that landed four days before the attack in the wheat fields.”

“From the port in Shanghai,” Ji Sun tells. “That must have been what carried them over.”

“Like a disease,” Cho Rip rattles in disgust. “But they’re here now, and they’re moving around us with the help of someone who knows this place like the back of their hand. And what’s worse is that the second troupe of assassins have made enemies with them.”

“The assassins in the blue and yellow want to kill the prince, for sure, but they want the two famed assassins dead as well.” Cho Rip continues. “It’s a peculiar situation, but it’s happened before.”

“Their master is an idiot,” Ji Sun deadpans. “Pinning assassins against each other while the target is a sitting duck is never the wisest choice.”

“So we’ve concluded that the mind behind the matters is none other than a child.” Cho Rip finishes.

“Or a fool,” Dong Soo cuts in. “Anything else?”

They shake their heads, and with that, Dong Soo bows out.

But Cho Rip walks out of the room and into the cold night with the man.

“Dong Soo-yah!” He calls sharply. He doesn’t turn around.

And with that, Cho Rip is sure that the assassins’ guide is none other than Heuksa Chorong itself. And by the fury that glazed over the warrior’s eyes minutes before, the Finance Minsiter is sure he knows that too.

Cho Rip breathes in the cold air and wonders how the hell they managed to get to this point.

*******


	7. Chapter 7

**Yi Fan**

The digits feel like ice against his warm skin. Yi Fan groans. Not out of pain, of course, but need. The deathly cold feels comfortable against his hot skin, and he doesn’t want to sweat anymore. He wants those warm fingers to caress his cheeks and make his breath come out easier rather than in short gasps. He needs the cool touch to build him back up instead of breaking him down. He whines when in response he receives more warmth.

His eyes flicker open to see a pair of puffy cheeks and doe-like eyes. Min Seok blinks one, twice, three times before breaking into a grin.

“Hyung,” he breathes, a pained touch to his voice and Yi Fan can see his eyes glass over as tears ready themselves. But the round-faced nobleman wipes away at his eyes before they can embarrass him. “I’ll get the others, OK?” He whispers softly before removing the hot compress from his forehead and hobbling out of the room.

Cold fingers brushing against the nape of his neck, whispering things into his ears- things he’s yet to decipher.

Wu Yi Fan blinks and releases a shaky breath, attempting to become aware of his surroundings instead of plunging himself into the canals of his dreams. He pushes away the thin figure and his light mask, his soft lips-

Yi Fan blinks. He’s aware his chest is beginning to hurt when the wound on his back is supposed to hurt more.

“Hyung!” Jong Dae flushes, allowing the maid to help him settle onto the cushions on he floor. He cranes his neck to see a few men escort a masked Yixing in before disappearing.

“Gege!” Yixing crawls over to hug him.

When he does, the pain in his chest begins to lessen. Min Seok doesn’t stop the young man and instead threads his fingers through his dark brown hair, careful to avoid the strings that hold the cloth covering his face.

“You’ve been asleep for a week, hyung,” Jong Dae pouts, fixing his covers. “We didn’t think you’d make it,” he squeaks.

Yixing slaps the king’s cousin with harried hands before swiftly turning back to Yi Fan. “Don’t listen to him!” He cuts in. “I told them my angel would come by, and he did! You’re all better now, right?” He questions, wiping a bead of sweat of his forehead, and all Yi Fan can do is nod meekly. Yixing’s eyes crinkle and he looks up to Min Seok. “See? I told you he’d be OK!”

Min Seok merely smiles and ruffles the Chinaman’s long, dark locks. Seconds later, a nurse walks in and bows deeply before politely asking them to leave. They do, and Yi Fan does as he’s told as they poke, prod, and redress his wounds before settling him back onto the pillows.

Later, only Min Seok and Jong Dae shuffle in, Yixing no longer present.

Yi Fan blinks quizically. “Where did he go?” He whispers hoarsely, days of breathlessness kicking in again.

“He went to get ointment applied to his face.” Min Seok assures, taking a seat next to the warm bowl and new towel. He dipped the cloth in the liquid before wringing it and pressing it gently against Yi Fan’s skin.

“He’s seeing things now, hyung,” Jong Dae manages to mutter after a few minutes. “He’s seeing men dressed like kings following him around.” He says with the straightest face possible.

“The hell are you talking about?” He growls, causing the younger man to flinch before averting his eyes.

“He talks about angels, hyung.” Minseok states simply, massaging Yi Fan’s temples. “Or, at least his angel,” he manages to correct himself.

_What would you, something less than human, know?_

Yi Fan flinches. “What do you mean?”

“He thinks he has a guardian angel with bright hair. A foreigner, maybe, something of that sort. He won’t stop talking about it.” Jong Dae adds, massaging his calves. Jong Dae blinks. “He’s fallen in love with the imaginary man,” Jong Dae adds, wrinkling his nose is distaste. “It’s unsettling.”

Better than dreaming about demons, Yi Fan wants to say, and anger begins to bubble in his throat. “So? He’s happy, isn’t he?” He knows he’s being harsh, but it’s better than nothing. He was a bitter being- things shouldn’t change just because a monster had managed to steal his heart. “He’s lost his face; he can love as many damned angels as he pleases!” He manages to bark, causing Jong Dae to drop his eyes fearfully.

“We just wanted you to know, hyung.” Min Seok finishes smoothly before Jong Dae can get berated again. Just as he removed the cloth from Yi Fan’s head, the thin door slides open to reveal Yixing being guided in by an ahjumma, his long face covered by a pale blue cloth with a flower embroidered on both sides.

“Gege!” He exclaims and sits down next to Yi Fan. He can’t see the smile, but his eyes crinkle delightfully, and that’s enough.

Jong Dae helps his lame brother off the heated floor and they both bow and quietly leave before Yi Fan can call out to them. Yixing’s eyes widen.

“Why’d they leave, gege?” He asks questioningly.

_Because I’m the reason they’re suffering, and they’re too nice to admit it._

“I was being mean,” he admits softly, wetness touching his eyes.

“Gege’s always being a meany.” If the pale cloth was removed, he could have seen the pout gracing the young man’s dry lips.

“I know,” he agrees. “And I’m sorry. Do you think they’ll forgive me,” he asks lightly, staring at the ceiling.

At that, Yixing chuckles. “Of course! They’re our family, gege. Family always forgives, right?” He claims, shuffling closer to him.

Yi Fan nods weakly. “Yes… I think so.” He admits.

Yixing moves the bowl and cloth to the side and makes room for himself on the elder’s bedspread. Then, almost immediately, he slumps down next to him, nestling his head in his arms. Yi Fan smiles.

“I know he came by,” the masked man whispers loud enough for Yi Fan to hear. “He’s really quiet, but he’s always around. He’s the one who helped heal me,” he gestures towards the bandage on his stomach. “And the morning after, it didn’t hurt as much and the ajhumma said it was a miracle. It wasn’t. It was just him being kind again.” He finishes dreamily, his eyelashes landing sleepily against the top of his cheeks.

“You’re lucky then,” Yi Fan manages to say. “He’s always there for you- helping you… guiding you.”

Yixing nods. “He was the one who told me to get used to my new beauty. Now when I look at my reflection in the water, I’m not as scared, gege. Surely, that can only be an angel’s magic?”

Yi Fan chuckles, though the sound is more like a toad croaking than an actual chuckle. “Only an angel’s magic,” he agrees.

“I kissed him, ge.” He whispers.

And Yi Fan freezes.

He knows he shouldn’t be getting up, but he does. The stitches pinned on his wound stretch and simper, and he knows any further movement will pull the weak bonds and that they’ll eventually break. He also happily ignores the fact that rising will make his breathing more erratic and uncontrolled, and that if he didn’t pull it together, he’ll be killing himself indirectly.

But it’s worth it, he decides.

“Yixing,” he breathes, clutching his arm and lifting him off the bedspread. The young man blinks, dazed and tired.

“Ge?”

“Don’t ever tell anyone what you just told me.” He warns. His grip tightens and he intends to leave marks once he’s finished. “Don’t ever- _ever_ -tell anyone that you kissed your angel. Do you understand me?”

_Do you want to die?_

“B-but, he lo-”

“No!” Yi Fan’s hands grapple the collar of his light robe and pull him close enough that their noses brush against each other. “You will never speak of him again. Do you understand me? As you future king, I _demand_ you never speak of him- to anyone. To do so is treason.” He threatens at last, shoving the thin figure away from him and allowing him to scatter away.

His stitches have pulled themselves free, and he feels the warm liquid seep through the bandages and pool around the curve of his bum. He steadies himself by placing the soles of his palms on the bedspread, his head bowed.

Yixing cries in the corner, tears staining the cloth on his face.

A minute later, someone calls from the outside, and Yi Fan doesn’t have the strength left in him to call back. When the maid sees the blood pooling beneath Yi Fan, she shrieks and instantly there are nurses and doctors and a myriad of other people piling up in the room.

They finish about an hour later, and the maids lay out the spreads for the other three men. Min Seok and Jong Dae don’t say a word as they help Yixing into his from the corner where he fell asleep crying. Min Seok goes next, careful not to pull the wraps around his crippled leg. Jong Dae climbs underneath his covers last, as quiet as a wind and utterly tired.

Their backs are to Yi Fan and he cracks his eyes open to stare at their backs as snores fill up the room.

_They’ll kill him if they find out._

Of course they will, he gulps. Joseon’s no better than the Qing. They’d kill him.

_They’ll kill me._

Except Yi Fan’s never feared for his life before. The demon with the purple mask was right- he’d rather die than actually face his situation, and he wanted to leave with the impression that he did it for his brothers.

_I am._

He is.

_But I’m not._

And he’s ashamed.

Angel or demon, they were still men- and men couldn’t love each other the way Yi Fan wanted them to. And if Yixing had caught the disease as well, then it was ten times worse. He knows now that he can’t ever take his eyes off him- and that no one can _ever_ find out. Angel or demon, reality or fantasy- it was still a death sentence regardless.

He blinks and hears hiccups and hitches in breathing. Yixing cries into his arm as Yi Fan lets the warm liquid trickle down his cheeks and land soundly on his pillow.

*******

_Two Days Later_

**Tao**

“That’s up north and could take a few days. I’ll have my green-belts take it.”

“Send a few yellow-belts over for reconnaissance purposes. How many are you putting in your vanguard?”

“Ten, at most. Fifteen if I can manage the carts. Otherwise, it’s ten at the front, fifteen on the reserve. Five on reconnaissance, and maybe three on guard.”

“Sounds great. I’ll come in on the last day. Should be an easy.”

Tao’s hides behind a brown pillar as the braided figure and the Earth Lord continue to plan their strategies for the raid on the new Pan-Asian colony of rogue mercenaries cooped up in the north. He wrinkles his nose at the mundane quality of the job.

And he wants it, only to feel just a tad bit more normal.

Jin Ju, at last, saunters off with two of the four scrolls and waves Luhan goodbye before slipping out of the room and on to her next course of business. Tao stays behind his pillar, his knees pulled up to his chest as he rests his chin on top of his caps.

“Fancy seeing you here.” He hears a familiar chirp.

Maybe because he should’ve known that he could never hide from the man long enough to actually make it anywhere. And because he was rather tall and that hiding behind a rather obvious pillar isn’t always the best course of action in a bout of espionage.

“Hi, ge.” He squeaks, covering his head with his arms.

“If you wanted to sulk, you just could have said so.” He hears the older man sigh before turning away. Tao latches on to his arm, like always, before he gets away.

“Th-that’s not what I meant,” he stutters. What had he meant?

_I’m sorry._

Yes, a good place to start, he agrees with his brain.

“I’m sorry!” He squeaks louder and shoves his head underneath the crook of his arms again.

A sweet laugh rings throughout the room occupying only the two brothers, and man with the twin rubies pinned at the nape of his neck slides down the pillar next to him before engulfing him into a hug.

“There, there, Taozi,” he giggles, “no need to be shy.” Tao feels warm hands ruffle his black hair and then snake around his ribs before the tickling begins. Tao jumps, hits his arm against the pillar and sprawls out on the floor in front of the older man.

“Ge!” He roars in protest, but the pert hands keep at it until tears stream down Tao’s face and it becomes harder and harder to distinguish whether or not they were of joy or regret.

Luhan stops and crawls over to him as he sobs into his arms before pulling him up ang wrapping his arms around him again.

“I’m sorry,” he manages one more time, and Luhan lets him bury his head in his chest.

“Typical Taozi,” he drawls. “I get punched, he starts crying. When does it end?” He pleads wistfully into the wind as Tao punches him affectionately in the ribs. “Ow! There’s a bruise there, dumbass!” He shrieks and Tao scurries away, holding his ears in defeat.

“Sorry, sorry!” He doesn’t know when to quit it while he’s ahead.

And his brother merely laughs, ruffling his head once more.

“Gullible as ever,” he notes. He pinches his cheeks and Tao pouts.

“I deserved that.” He murmurs into his arms again.

“That and more,” Luhan agrees. “But I forgive you.” He finishes nonchalantly.

“Really?” He asks, his eyes widening in earnest.

Luhan scratches his forehead. “Only if you don’t make a scene when I leave to visit Yixing.”

At that, Tao stills. “Uh… sure. Why not? Have fun.” He manages to stutter.

Luhan rubs his arms. “Good boy,” he jokes, but then a serious, almost deadly look captures his features. “Don’t leave tonight,” he warns. “You’re still injured. You can’t fight the prince if decides he doesn’t want to return your advances.” And at that, Luhan’s serious-face crumbles and he breaks into giggles.

Tao’s eyes bulge out of his head. “W-what? What the hell are you talking about!?” He demands furiously, attempting to find an excuse for the “incident” from nights ago.

“Aww, Taozi.” Luhan puckers his lips and squeezes his flattened cheeks. “Look at you, all red and flustered over a formless nobleman.”

Tao flushes. “Shut it, you.”

“I’m not the one who pinned him to the ground and ate his face,” he drawls, not missing a beat.

Tao blinks before his mouth drops to the ground. “I did no such thing!”

Luhan guffaws. “Macking lips with a prissy and averting admittance? Tsk, tsk, Taozi.” He shakes his head morosely. “His tongue must’ve been fabulous for you to get _this_ upset.” He coos, poking the tip of his nose with a mischievous smile.

At that, Tao gives up. He’ll never win against the older man- especially not when they were like this.

“His lips were very soft, thank you very much,” he grumbles.

“Do you want to steal him?” The elder asks casually in response.

Tao stifles a cough. “What?”

“Steal him,” Luhan asks again. “We can pick him up while he’s at the market or something, and then plant a body somewhere with his clothes ripped and soiled. I remember one of the Arab princes doing it with one of the lady shamans. It worked out pretty well in the end.”

Tao wants to think he’s joking, but he knows he’s not. They never are- not when it comes to stealing souls.

“I’ll… let him warm up to me,” he breathes. “We’ll see what happens next.”

“Chivalry doesn’t do you well, Taozi,” he advises. “That’s my department.”

“He’s a prince, ge,” he reminds him. “One you were supposed to kill and now we have to protect in order to thwart whoever wants us dead.”

Luhan shrugs. “We’ll find the idiot behind it, kill him, and come back eventually to take what’s ours. You’ve already claimed him.” Luhan points out.

“How do you even claim someone?” Tao grumbles underneath his breath.

“By macking lips with them, duh.” Luhan explains. He smiles cheekily. “I claimed Yixing. He’s sweet betwe-”

“Stop,” Tao cuts him off. “I don’t need to hear of your exploits with the nobleman.”

“But waeeee?” He whines.

Tao doesn’t get to answer because Jin Ju bursts through the door with more scrolls. He politely bows to the woman before throwing his brother one more dirty look before leaving them alone to their work.

_Take what’s ours._

The thought sends shivers up Tao’s spine as he leaves the room and ambles down the hall towards the entrance that leads down to the garden and pond.

_Was_ the High Prince his? He passes Gu Hyang, but the brown garbed youth takes into step beside him. They walk in silence as Tao contemplates.

Lips as smooth as silk with a teethed cavern that tasted of nothing but mulled buttermilk. No wine, no fruits- the taste of a commoner.

He blinks.

His hands- oddly shaped. Rough around the edges, and he _was_ shapeless. Unpleasing to the eye when he scowled, an uncouthly aura pervading his being when he just so _looked_ at someone. Too tall for his own good, limbs in resistance with each other. Hair, dark as coal but oily, split, and perpetually mussed.

As undesirable as undesirable objects could get. This is what I should believe, he thinks. An undesirable noble with uncouth eyes and chapped fingers. Nothing at all a demon of the night would want in his bed.

But then he would be lying to himself if he believed that. He knows it; the brown garbed youth knows it and he hadn’t even said a word to be heard by the younger man. But they know.

Tao wants nothing more than to be with him, regardless of his imperfections.

A dull ache in his heart tells him that he wishes the Prince would think the same of him.

*******

**Yeo Woon**

The little girl hits the older boy with a battle cry worth remembering. Yeo Woon breaks into a smile as the stick sword comes barrelling down on his foot.

“Yow! STOP IT!”

She’s as relentless as she is adorable. Her friends join her plight and they all begin pummeling the older children with sticks and wheat straps while yelling to the gods above to guide them in their quest to preserve their play space.

A pain in his chest reminds him of the days he spent practicing in the same place with a certain warrior, an inseparable trio, and a bespectacled genius.

He knows it’s him even before the sword leaves its scabbard.

When the children notice him in his peasant’s disguise, sharpening one of his shortswords with a flatstone, they stop their wailing and squealing to stare. A few seconds of unrelenting blushing later, the children then gaze in awe as a shadow creeps towards him from behind.

The children scatter and he continues to sharpen his sword. When the blade comes down, he stops it from hitting his neck with the smooth end of the flat stone.

He doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s him. After all these years, his scent is still the same.

_Lavender, fruit wine, and cinnamon._

When the second hit comes, his shortsword goes to block it as he swerves around to meet him face to face.

Deep brown eyes stare into an endless abyss of pain. Which eyes belong to whom? They would never know.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks sharply, his heart aching in the process. “Picking fights in broad daylight? You’re not twelve, Baek Dong Soo.” He spits regrettably. The harsh expression gracing the younger man’s features harden. In response, he strikes again.

Yeo Woon ducks effortlessly, but a sting in his torso reminds him that he’s in no condition to dance the dance of death.

But he’s not willing to share that with the only man he’d ever love.

A jab comes for his calf, and blocks with one shortsword while using the other to graze the dark skinned man’s robe. The cloth tears, but the skin underneath remains untouched. Yeo Woon heart swells with pride as his features sharpen. Another series of strikes later, Yeo Woon feels a stitch or two ripping at their seams on his stomach. His mask falters for the slightest of seconds before he resumes blocking and planting weak hits on the warrior.

He thinks that he’ll get tired after a while, but their dance becomes more hurried- more dangerous. Yeo Woon can no longer cut cloth, and has to resort to grazing skin and stabbing fleshy spots that will only bleed but never lead to death.

But the warrior is relentless, and Yeo Woon thinks this must be it.

_I’m going to die today._

It’s a bright day, actually. The sun sheds raw heat on the land, even though winter is creeping on its footsteps during the night. The fields are still warm to play around in, but soon the frost in the soil will slink up the stalks and stop everything cold. Yeo Woon thinks it’s a really nice day to die.

But he’s not going to kill me, he realizes after fifteen minutes of nonstop movement. His stitches have completely torn themselves and there’s a bright red spot glowing on his stomach where the warrior hasn’t touched once. Rough animalskin thread gnaws at his torn flesh and he begins to feel dizzy. Maybe he’ll stop, Yeo Woon thinks. Maybe he’ll see the blood.

He does. And he doesn’t stop.

But that doesn’t mean Yeo Woon accepts defeat this quickly. He still has a wife to thank and friends to hug. He’s got an heir to bless and new brothers to shake hands with. He wants to die _after_ saying goodbye to them.

So when Baek Dong Soo aims for his navel, he takes one, sharp intake of breath before staving off the blow and kicking the man down while his only sword flew out of reach. The taller of the two attempts a kick, but Yeo Woon’s limbs are still more lithe, much faster than Dong Soo’s gangly ones. With haste, he blocks the hit and steps ruthlessly on his chest while the twin swords bare down on his throat.

Crimson liquid seeps through his cloth and drips aimlessly on Baek Dong Soo’s torn robes. His feverish eyes glare down at the angered orbs below.

“State your business, Baek Dong Soo.” He fumes. “You’ve already wasted a great deal of my time.” The pain in his torso catches up with him. “There were children playing, damn you. Why now? Why today?”

“You traitor,” he seethes.

“The he- what?” He falters.

“Traitor,” the one beneath his foot repeats. “After all these years, you’re still the _same_.”

He blinks slowly, his vision blurring because of the pain. But he presses against the man’s chest regardless, holding him in place. “I have no idea what you speak of, and wish for this never to occur again. If you want a duel to the death, send a messa-”

“YOU WERE PROTECTING THEM! I SAW YOU! YOU WERE THERE FOR _THEM_!”

He visibly flinches at the words. “Wh-”

“Don’t even try,” he whispers back, his body shaking beneath his worn boot. “I wondered,” he murmurs, as if to himself. “I wondered why on earth you would go to Yixing Chen’s quarters. Why would you run there when you promised me you had my back? You promised me. I believed you. I thought, maybe after all these years, I’d be a priority in your life for once.”

Yeo Woon stills. He doesn’t know he’s crying until he feels a warm droplet fall from his eye and fall on the hilt of one of his swords.

“But you ran for them,” Dong Soo accuses. “You ran to them so you could save them from the others! It could have been anyone else in the world! It could have been Jin Ju! But even _she_ had to save you in the end, didn’t she? She would have died for you. _I_ would have died for you. But you wanted to die for _them_.”

No, he wants to tell them.

_No. I’ll only die for you. I’ll die, only if you kill me yourself. Please, **no**._

“You hav-”

“Don’t speak, just listen,” the dark skinned man demands. “I’m tired, Un-ah. I’m tired of your lies, your inability to… understand. I thought we had an accord. But in the end, you ended up being a guide for those monsters. Ifrit and the Emerald Snake, aren’t they? They cut down a promising soldier, crippling him for life. They ripped open a boy’s cheeks like he was made of cloth. They tore out tongues and plucked out eyes. _They’re worse than you._ ”

No, he wants to say. _No one is as bad as I am._

“How do you even sleep at night?” He asks, eyes glassy with hatred and astonishment.

_I don’t._

Yeo Woon slackens his hold on Dong Soo’s chest. Soon enough, his swords slip from his hands and clatter atop his chest. He slumps beside the taller man, heaving as the red spot grows and leaks, his face wet with tears.

He expects the other man to take one of his shortswords and plunge it into his side. Instead, the man rises and steps away from his hunched figure.

“Let this be the last time we meet like… this.”

_Like what, Dong Soo-yah?_

“I have to avenge those children and a prince. My king. I can’t let you continue whatever it is you’re doing with them. Now with another group after them, I just can’t. Let this be the last time we see each other as humans, Yeo Woon. Next time, you’re my enemy to finish.”

_Yours. Only yours._

He doesn’t have to pick his head up to see the other man crying. He can hear it in his heart.

*******

**Tao**

“It’s dangerous, he said. I’ll kick your bum, he said.”

“He was right,” Gu Hyang cuts in, wrapping the long, purple sash around his waist as he stands with his arms above his head.

“B-but-”

“-but you can’t handle your urges,” she finishes for him. “Typical. I’ll let him deal with you when he gets back.”

He pouts, letting her finish dressing him. As he pulls on his mask, he catches glimpse of the bright pink binyeo fastened tightly in her bun. He smiles wistfully.

“Be back before dawn. I don’t want him tearing the garden to shreds looking for you,” she warns.

He nods. “It’s only for a few hours,” he promises. “I just want to see how he’s doing.” She doesn’t say anything, her mind juggling three different issues at the same time. He clucks his tongue. “Woon will be back before dawn,” he assures her. “He needs the fresh air. So do I. We all do,” he pleads.

Silence is her response, and she shifts to the side, handing him his jian. He fastens it to his belt before bowing. He then crawls out the window and setting out into the night.

The air hasn’t smelled this sweet in a while.

**~*~**

It takes him a while to figure out where exactly Wu Fan and his cousins are being held hostage in. At last, he finds one of the King’s Trio guard lurking silently around a compound situated near the the west palace.

No warrior in sight. He counts his prayers.

It takes him well over two hours to actually get into the room. He sees that the nobleman he crippled is silently reading a book while his brother sleeps soundly on his lap. It takes the entirety of the two hours for the youngest to awaken from his slumber and for his lame brother to help him out of the room and to the dinner hall.

Yixing Chen is no where to be seen, and he he has an inkling of an idea where his brother might have taken him.

But all that fades away as the lone member of the trio now stands solemnly in front of the door of the shared dormitory. He creeps along the dusty sides of the barrier dividing one compound from the next. He swoops over crooks and crevices until he silently lands on a roof. Surveying the premises, he spies a window. As usual, like most windows, it’s left unattended. Tao prays he can fit through.

And he does.

He dives in head first, rolls, and lands inches from one of the prince’s splayed arms. His breathing quietens and he stares for the longest time.

He has beautiful eyelashes.

Dark hair the color of wood soaked in honey- the tiny strands of hair protruding from his eyelids rest softly against his cheek. They’re flushed, as if fever still plagues him, of which Tao is sure. He’s clothed entirely in drab colors, loose fitting and easy to clasp and undo. His breathing comes in periodic wheezes, and his fingers twitch every so often.

It’s a sight to behold. Something stirs in Huang Zi Tao.

The room is wide. He sees three other crumpled bedspreads laid out next to each other, all of which will be changed soon enough. In one corner there rests medical supplies, while in another, a stack of scrolls and books are laid haphazardly on top of each other.

It doesn’t smell as bad as it did in the sickroom in Heuksa Chorong, he reckons. But then again, all of Huang Luhan’s medicines had an odd stench, and when one too many odd smells came together, they created a rather unpleasant aura.

But aura aside, everyone usually healed quicker and better. Thus was the magic of Huang Luhan’s mortar and pestle.

He sleeps on his side, both arms spread in front of him, his back towards the entrance of the door. His inky black hair is spread out on the pillow, strands sticking to his sweaty face while others stay on his shoulder and snake down to his chest. He looks as ethereal as princes should.

And that scowl is gone. There’s something generously calm about him now, and Tao can’t help but sit on the balls of his feet, his knees drawn to his chin, and just stare. Just stare as the breathes escape in wheezes while his chest rises and falls in harmony.

It’s later in the years when Tao finally realizes that sometimes it’s just better to look than to look _and_ touch. Admiring things from a far- his brother had been doing it for years before him. He should have picked up a few hints in all the years he’d spent judging him. But he’ll learn that soon enough. Sadly, if he’d paid just a bit more attention to his brother’s romances prior to Yixing Chen, he would have learned that there was a reason behind the sentiment.

Because when a finger of his brushes against an eyebrow, his wrist is caught in a light hold by the man who was thought to be slumbering.

Because humans never fight back until they’re touched. And demons are never supposed to touch.

Because admiring and touching are two different worlds- in a demon’s case, two worlds that should never cross over.

Eyelids flutter with their lashes in succession to reveal twin brown orbs. Huang Zi Tao realizes just how breathtaking the prince is.

But then fear and anger mix together to form white, hot rage. “What,” he whispers hoarsely. “What do you want!?”

It’s not loud enough to perk the blue garbed guard’s ear, but it’s enough for Tao to put a hand over his mouth. He presses down gently, as to muffle his words only, but not his voice.

“Please,” he pleads softly. A sting runs up his spine as he reminds himself that he still has stitches- they both do.

The fury in his eyes lessen, but the coarseness of his words persist. “Kill me quickly if you have the guts. Otherwise, _leav_ e.” He heaves, eyes ablaze.

“I promised to protect you,” he finds himself deadpanning.

Huang Zi Tao doesn’t know what flashes before the younger man’s eyes, but it’s something familiar.

“You _monster_ ,” he seethes, though his eyes begin to speak otherwise. “You hurt my brothers!” He manages to cough up. “What makes you think I’d trust you with anything less than a dead rat?”

Tao finds himself asking the same question. Really. Who would trust a demon with anything living?

“I…” He can’t form correct words- words that will display how sorry, how truly apologetic he is for what’s happened. He wants to say that he can heal Min Seok and that the young man will be up, about, and ready to take the civil service exam next year and become a police officer at last. He wants to say that he can heal Yixing Chen’s hideous visage and make him more beautiful than any other nobleman in both Qing and Joseon’s lands. He wants to say that he will give himself to him, if only he could understand.

But words are wind, he recalls. So instead, he bows.

Bows so deeply that his nose touches the heated floor, like the Arabs did when they prayed to their god. He closes his eyes and stays still, pledging his breaths and scars to this man- this man who wants him dead.

This man that should have been dead by his brother’s hands.

“Forgive me,” he asks once. When he raises his head, he doesn’t look the prince in the eye and instead bows once more. He lets one hand drift over to one of the prince’s. He presses a kiss to his knuckles before letting his nose touch the floor one more time.

He then slinks away from the man, not once looking him in the eye. He climbs out the window and melds in with the shadows before venturing back out into the dark. He doesn’t turn back once as pieces of his heart break away and crumble in the meantime.

*******

**Luhan**

It wasn’t kidnapping, per say. More like him just _drifting_ through the compound and then he just _happened_ to spot the man with the pale green cloth covering his face, prompting him to just _lure_ the man away from his sleeping quarters, and then _whisking_ him away to the waterfall.

OK, so maybe they’re all lies. Maybe was lurking in the shadows, keeping watch as the cripple, his younger brother, and the scarred man laughed and pointed at things in a book the cripple was clutching. And then the cripple’s brother fell asleep, and scarboy drifted outside to go to the pond, and he just managed to put a hand over his mouth and stole him away before any of the soldiers could take notice.

Of course that’s the truth. As if Luhan had the decency to play prince in a court full of enemies. He values his hide very much.

But then again, he values the pretty boy playing with a flower as well. In fact, he’s starting to value him a lot these days, to his personal chagrin.

“Yah, eat now. Enough with that.” He snaps, hoping to catch his attention for good.

But the gladioli on their thin stalk are prettier than Luhan, and that makes Luhan very jealous. So he just snatches the stalk of flowers from the Chinese nobelman and sneers. He never said he was the sharing type.

But when the twinkle in the nobleman’s eyes fades and become replaced with solemnity and melancholy, Luhan mentally slaps himself. Begrudgingly he grabs a few more stalks growing at the edges of the pool of water and patters over to the nimble man before shoving them to his chest.

“Here,” he says gruffly, turning to the basket of food sitting forlornly on the red mat he’d swiped from Jin Ju, unable to meet the nobleman’s heartbreaking eyes.

And the twinkle returns, because the scarred man is cooing over the pretty flowers now. Something in Luhan begins to float. He suspects it’s his heart.

“Troll,” he mouths silently as the high prince’s cousin brushes his fingers against the small flowers and other stray buds embedded on the stalks. Tentatively he inches closer towards the man until his fingers reach the ties holding the mask over his face. For a few seconds, the man stills and blinks at Luhan. Luhan freezes.

But then fingers come to aid Luhan’s and the cloth comes undone and falls silently off Yixing Chen’s face and drifts to the dusty earth of the cave. And he’s even more beautiful tonight, and Luhan has an urge to curl into a fetal position, rest his head on the man’s lap, and just bask in his beauty.

But the nobleman thinks otherwise, and instead smiles, the scarred skin pulling itself into a curve. Luhan lets fingers drift over the marred flesh. Yixing nuzzles the hand.

After the awkward touchy-feely session, Luhan decides his food isn’t going to go to waste. He didn’t spend two nights and a good chunk of sleepy times to cook up the dessert flower cakes. Hell no. So he drags the nobleman and his flowers to the red mat and begins to untie the cloth holding the boxes together.

Luhan chats, Yixing laughs. Luhan produces chopsticks and he damn well insists he feed the man.

And he does. Not like the nobleman felt the need to deny him. The course continues until Yixing is stuffed and shyly asks if he can do the same. Luhan blinks but hands the chopsticks over anyway. And then he’s fed to the brim and all that’s left in the end is the cake bin.

Of which Luhan ends up feeding Yixing with his bare hands. All four. Doesn’t even think about bringing one to his mouth.

By the time they’re done, Yixing can barely move with his full stomach and groans unpleasantly. The braided man with the twin emeralds and three rubies performing a crown on his head ends up scooping up the younger into his arms before settling down to watch the crystals coating the ceiling of the cave. Yixing hands lay atop his own as he encloses his arms snugly around his thin waist. Yixing’s head falls on Luhan’s chest. Luhan doesn’t want to leave.

“I have a name,” He blurts out after a lengthy silence. The man in his arms coughs.

“Angels have names… that’s nice,” he hears him say dreamily. Luhan gulps down the fear in his throat.

“It’s Luhan, so you can stop with the angel crap now,” he quips.

“Luhan the Angel,” he hears the other man giggle.

“It’s Luhan the awesomest Angel on this side of the planet to you, scarboy,” he snaps back, but that only makes the nobleman laugh. Luhan grumbles discontentedly under his breath.

But then a sudden silence falls upon the smiling noble, and Luhan is scared.

“I’m sorry,” he ends up blurting, and holds the man closer, nuzzling his warm neck, soaking in his bodily scent of lavender and honey.

“No…” He whispers. “No, Luhan. It’s not you.” He finishes sadly. He plays with a stalk of gladioli.

“Then?” He asks a bit harsher than intended.

Yixing begins to sniffle. A part of Luhan begins to break. “Gege said I couldn’t talk about you anymore- to anyone.” He recounts. “Gege told me that if I ever told anyone that I kissed you, then I’d get in big trouble. Then I started crying. But Luhan,” he breathes heavily. “Gege looked so _scared_.”

As he should be, Luhan thinks. Humans weren’t very fond of this… practice.

_Of my love for you._

Luhan has an urge to rip out the high prince’s throat with the tip of his godspear. But then Tao’s face begins to flutter in front of his eyes, and he suppresses it.

_The things I do for you, Taozi._

“Uh… he’s right,” he hears himself begin. “Because we’re… special? Yeah, we’re special. Me and you, you and me. We’re special. But we can only be special together if you don’t tell anyone, otherwise they’ll take you away from me,” he hears himself say. He hears himself say things Tao should be the one to say to his not-so-appealing princekingemperorman.

_I should’ve stolen you on the night of the festival._

So many problems could have been avoided, he hears himself agree.

Yixing picks his head off his chest and turns towards him, his eyes wide and contemplative. “You really think so?” He asks sincerely.

“Of course,” he replies gently, brushing strands of dark hair away from his lips. “Only because we’re special right now, my love.”

_My love._

He remembers the woman in the Kush, her swollen belly and her perfect hands and perfect voice. He remembers the life leaving her eyes as she pushed out the child that had killed her the second it was conceived. He remembers her saying _shukran_ before fading away, her hand clasping his as he said _goodbye my love_.

“My love,” he repeats, and Yixing wraps his arms around his neck before pressing pink lips against his.

_My love._

He repeats the mantra in his head like a prayer.

*******

**Chapter Epilogue**

Later the braided man, with the emerald and the three rubies for a crown and six diamonds and eight amethysts embedded in his oiled braid, carries the smiling nobleman on his back, back to the compound. He manages to slip him into the area before planting himself in the trees and watching if he gets inside safely.

His pale cloth is back on his face, but instead of just strings holding back the cover, there’s also a lone emerald pinned on the side of his hair.

He eventually gets inside, and the Emerald Snake of the Dark Isles disappears with the shadows with a smile.

A mile down, a man with long black hair and bloodied clothes stumbles drunkenly down the pathway leading towards Heuksa Chorong. He knows he won’t make it back to the castle in one piece in his inebriated state, so he clambers over to a tree and slides down against it. Flashes of dark skin, warm hands, and warmer lips pervade his thoughts. He feels himself ache both physically and mentally for something he can’t have. He thinks maybe he should turn back to the cathouse and take up the prostitute’s offer as well as have a few more dishes of sake. He can’t have a certain someone begging for more, so he thinks maybe he should just _pretend_ with the substitute. Because he’s the Sky Lord and all. Things go well against the tree until a rough kick to his hastily stitched wound brings back raw pain.

Somewhere along the pathway to the castle, the Emerald Serpent catches Ifrit of the Desert slinking along as well. The Serpent’s first reaction is a sharp cuff to his ear before dragging the younger demon by the ear and pulling him along. As they toe back, the Serpent shoves the empty food boxes wrapped in cloth to the man, and the purple masked man doesn’t say a thing. The Emerald Serpent tongue lashes the younger until they come to a stop in front a certain tree.

The Sky Lord’s mouth is opened and leaking dark blood and the Serpent in his green mask lets go of the ear while Ifrit in his purple drops the box. They rush over. He’s still breathing. The Serpent hoists the man onto his back and makes Ifrit walk ahead of him.

Once they’re back in the recesses of Heuksa Chorong and the Sky Lord is taken inside the medi-ward, a shrill scream echoes through the halls of the grand palace.

It’s the Earth Lord vowing vengeance.

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Shukran' means thank you in Arabic.


	8. Chapter 8

**Luhan**

By noon the next day, everything has gone straight to hell. Luhan knows this because he tied Tao to the bed the night before, redressed his wounds, and sat by him the entire night and through the morning before being shimmied off to bathe and eat by Gu Hyang.

And that wasn’t even half of it.

“They’re sending us warnings. Whether it’s one to tell Heuksa Chorong to stop harboring you two, or one to signal that we as a guild are next on their list has yet to be decided. But it is a warning nonetheless. They know you are our brothers now. They will not rest until they get what they want.”

Luhan sighs inwardly. And just last night he was on the verge of getting in between his lover’s legs, only to stop himself once more, swearing that they needed more nightly outings before he completely claimed him. This hoopla hurts his brain because all he wants to do is pleasure his love _tonight_ and tease his little brother about his precious prince. This hoopla is probably hurting his libido because less than twenty-four hours ago, his private parts were really, _really_ happy, and now they weren’t. Now, things aren’t looking too bright. This pisses Luhan off very much.

“I vote we find their hideout,” he drawls. “Hanyang’s big, but it’s not that big. At least, not big enough to thwart two hundred assassins.”

Tao’s still very much tied to the bed so his words are a bit… undermined. “No!” There’s a spark of something Luhan can’t decipher, but accounts it to the fact that the younger man is very much tied down to a bed right now.

“… OK.” It’s Jin Ju. She gives Tao a knowing look, one Luhan doesn’t like.

_They’re all in on something that I don’t know about._

But Luhan’s not the type to push at a lost cause. He trusts Tao enough to believe he’ll be told sooner or later.

“Excellent!” He chirps. He catches a glimpse of Yeo Woon wincing. He snickers. “Let’s make a run at the river ports! Gu Hyang-sshi, how about it?” The woman with the pink binyeo in her hair merely nods.

“Let me go as well!” Tao cries, his nostrils flaring. Luhan chuckles.

“We’ll all be going soon. We’re just going to take a few nights to get things,” she glances at Yeo Woon’s silent figure, “situated.”

Tao lets out a breath of relief, which promptly sends Luhan off the rocks with inappropriate snorts. “Doesn’t mean you’re getting out of those chains any time today.” He jeers, eyes shining with mischief and mirth. He scratches his chin. “Maybe tomorrow, too. Just to teach you a lesson.”

Really, it shouldn’t have been that funny, but it was. Some of the surrounding assassins snicker. Gu Hyang and the brown garbed assassin merely blink.

Yeo Woon’s soft voice drifts through the air. “The place where the carnival took place- the one we went to, Jin Ju. There might be a squad there.”

“I’ll see to it,” she clips back.

“No need,” Luhan cuts in. “I’ll take that and the rest of the river port with Gu Hyang-sshi. You can take a breather.”

Jin Ju cracks a sad smile. “No need. I will accompany Tao when we keep watch on the king’s caravan when they leave for the safehouse.”

Luhan pouts. “You’ve been working nonstop though. Take a break for today then. I’ll make some food.”

At that, even the stray assassins start nodding vehemently. As if anyone would pass up dinner made by Luhan.

Jin Ju scratches her head. “… sure.”

“Great!” He claps. “So it’s settled!” He looks at the two bedridden males before grabbing Jin Ju’s arm and pulling her away, but she recoils. Luhan blinks.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” she whispers, forcing a smile and Luhan understands. A snap later, everyone leaves the sickroom besides the two males and the Earth Lord.

He stands outside for only ten seconds before a large crack rings through the hall. The sound of flesh against flesh is something everyone is very familiar with, so some of the assassins become a little flustered when they realize the sound came from the sickroom.

But Luhan knows better. When he cracks open a door, he sees the Sky Lord’s face staring at the marble floor, blood trickling down the side of his torn lip while one side of his face blooms scarlet red against his pale skin. Jin Ju shakes, tears streaming down her eyes as his brother looks away from the two.

And that’s when Luhan knows that Hell is somewhere they’re not coming back from.

*******

**Jong Dae**

The day finally comes when they’re being taken to the safehouse near the mountains where the warrior had lived for the past eight years. Needless to say, Jong Dae is more than elated at the thought of being taken out of the palace and its wary maids and even more guarded womenfolk. His cousin, their lord king, was oddly quiet after he told him and his brother that they would be safe in the cabin in the woods.

Jong Dae likes nature and the sweet breeze that comes with it. So while the others ride in the cart pulled my multiple horses, Jong Dae politely asks if he could ride an actual horse. And he does.

He shouldn’t have smiled so much, because soon after, Yixing starts to poke Min Seok, and Min Seok puts up with it until his poor shoulder can’t take it anymore and ends up begging one of the guards to please let the other man ride a horse.

And so Yixing gets a horse too, but Min Seok ends up having to ride it with him, to his chagrin. He even has to sit in front of Yixing because of his bad leg, causing the Chinaman to wrap his arms around his Joseon brother. It’s rather funny to the guards who tease at Minseok’s adorable pout, and Jong Dae laughs, but it’s a chilly but bright day so it’s fine.

Only Yi Fan sits silently alone in the cart.

**~*~**

Jong Dae is told that the cabin is a few hours ride away by the time the sun finally sets. He and the other two are helped down from their animals and secured into the cart with the quiet prince as the sound of the horses clopping begins to dull.

It’s when Jong Dae thinks it’s time to drift off that he notices the first soldier fall from his horse. Then the scream.

The cart shakes violently, causing the four men to fall on top of each other. Yi Fan grabs a hold of his brother while Jong Dae claws at Yixing before he crashes through the cart door and out. A horse whinnies in the distance and Jong Dae can hear the familiar sound of blades cutting through flesh.

The next scream sprays blood across the white drape handing over the cart’s window. Jong Dae breathes heavily as he fingers the scabs over the permanent scars littered throughout his body.

Yixing screams in the cart because a machete comes down from the top of the cart and grazes his shoulder. Jong Dae pulls the man to his chest and attempts to scramble away, only for the cart to shake even more before it comes to a deadly stop. The screams, the slashing, the clopping of the hooves- they all persist. But the cart stops and Jong Dae’s breathing stops with it.

Something sharp rips the bloodied window cloth. Min Seok gasps. It’s a hook.

And the man using creeps up to the window, a deadly smile on his lips as he takes the appendage, hooks it on Min Seok’s robe and pulls.

Right through the window and out to the dark as Jong Dae feels the wheels of the vehicle break and take down the remaining three.

*******

**Luhan**

The river port had two squads of blue clothed assassins instead of the assumed one. They fight right off the bat, and he moves swiftly and contently, his qiang tearing out throats and plunging itself into multiple bodies at once. He’s soaked in blood, intestines, spit, and sweat.

But he’s _thrilled_.

The godspear runs through a female and two males before he pulls it out and blocks a hit from an assassin aiming for Gu Hyang’s leg. She nods and rolls in her Heuksa Chorong gear, throwing ninja stars and kunai, effectively embedding them all into legs, throats, and crotches. They either fall dead, or get butchered in the process and fall in pieces.

Either way, it lightens Huang Luhan’s heart as the monster in him revels.

_Mother, you’d be so proud._

She would, he thinks as he help Gu Hyang jump and catch an assassin attempting to flee in a boat. She breaks his neck with a snap as he continues to slaughter the others- those who attempted to run away, and those who attempted to stay and fight.

And Luhan laughs out loud from underneath his mask, the rubies and emeralds in his hair shine in the white light emanating from the moon. But he stops when he hears a gurgling laugh combat his mirth.

“Keep going,” the figure wheezes, and he beheads two more assassins with the spear before curiously sauntering over to the bleeding figure. “Laugh all you want,” he spits. “In the end, he’ll find you _and_ your brother. And you’re going to end up just the way the ugly prince will, along with that harebrained cousin of his.”

Luhan blinks. He has half a mind to rip out this man’s liver and feed it to him, but he wants to hear more. Just a little more.

Luhan gets on his haunches and stares down at the dying man, cocking his head to the side. Another assassin comes to stab him from behind, but Gu Hyang comes in just in time to block the two and leace Luhan to his inquiry.

The blue clothed assassin hacks out a cough, spraying blood on Luhan’s mask. He twitches underneath. The latter catches it.

“Oh, don’t be so sad.” He cackles, blood dribbling down the side of his mouth. “He knows everything about you two- knows what you are, Emerald Serpent of the Dark Isles. He knows who you wish to have beneath you at night- knows that cunt of a brother of yours is one of your heels.”

His voice falls to whisper, the life in him leaving before Luhan’s eyes.

“Soon,” he manages. “Soon you’ll see true evil. What you do? Nothing. Soon you’ll see true demons walk the earth. And the first head they’ll parade through the streets is your brother’s without his mask on!”

And the rest is wind because Luhan breaks his neck and turns it a hundred and eighty degrees, causing it to face the dirt while his butchered chest and stomach faced him.

He slowly wipes off his spear on his light green jacket before walking along the trail of dead bodies before he meets fresh soil. Gu Hyang quietly follows behind him, her breathing even against his short breaths.

He heaves. He finds himself gripping his qiang all too tightly. Then, with no afterthought, he turns on his heels and back to the body of the assassin who dared speak to him.

Quietly and quickly he disrobes the assassin. Then he cuts the body to a familiar shape. Then he prints a mess of symbols onto the torn and disemboweled figure before taking cloth from other bodies and creating a sturdy rope. Then he hangs the bleeding and butchered figure between two trees.

And Gu Hyang watches silently until he’s done and they’re on their way back to Heuksa Chorong. And this time, Huang Luhan, the Green Snake, is smiling.

Smiling because the evil he created for himself couldn’t wait to devour the man who’d dared threaten his brother.

*******

**Cho Rip**

He jumps. He jumps and slashes and kicks until his official robes are torn and bloodied and his sword is as red as the liquid seeping into the soil. A woman assassin crows towards him with periodic jumps and swinging nunchucks. The tip of his blade meets her jugular when she gets close enough.

When he spies the cart’s wheels baking underneath the weight of the assassins jumping on top of it’s roof, Cho Rip swears loudly. It’s worse when he notices a hooked man with a smiling mask drag the crippled cousin of the king away from the crumbing wagon and towards seclusion.

But the warrior Baek Dong Soo isn’t that far behind, because a sword comes barraging from behind and lands soundly against a metaled arm of the hooked assassin. The lame boy attempts to scramble away from the ensuing fight, but the hooked blade remains on his robe, and the boy only manages to further ruin his clothes.

A roar turns Cho Rip’s attention to the cart whose broken wheels have embedded themselves into the soil. Another roar, and Wu Yi Fan crawls out of the broken wood and copper with acupressure needles and a pair of spoked knuckles. An assassin jumps on him and the prince’s sharp spokes go through the throat when he throws a punch. Yixing Chen and Jong Dae manage to drag themselves away as the prince wearily maneuvers his weapons to try and give them space.

Two more assassins come Cho Rip’s way and he kicks. He kicks high, low, swerves around and kicks again. Slash, strike, jab, kick. He continues until he’s relived and can survey the carnage once more.

  
Except what he now surveys is no longer the king’s men versus a group of assassins. He spies a woman clothed in light blue and white, a black mask covering her face as marbles go and lodge themselves inside throats while her swords cuts and hacks at limbs like cleavers through meat. Another lithe figure is dressed in shades of purple and parts black, and dances with a jiang held in one hand and then in both as he moves gracefully from one victim to another.

_Ifrit._

The hooked man who has Baek Dong Soo’s attentions keeps Baek Dong Soo’s attention. A man with sai comes from behind and attempts to bury his pointy blades into Yixing Chen’s back- only for a pair of marbles to plant themselves into his eyes and cause him to drop his weapons and scream into the night air.

_Jin Ju.._

Blood soaks into the ground like paint into canvas.

*******

**Jong Dae**

He drags away Yixing by the shoulder. Once they’re secured by the rubble of the cart, Jong Dae frantically looks around for any sign of his brother.

He spots the older man laying unconscious next to the hooked man and the warrior as they clash violently under moonlit sky.

Jong Dae wants to run to him, but can’t when he feels Yixing’s fingers dig into his arm. He looks up- his blood brother, his hyung, lies motionless in yellowing grass. He looks down- Yixing Chen’s mask is torn and tears streak his scarred face as he shakes desperately in his own skin. Jong Dae hears a loud clang near his ears, and he ends up pulling the older man to his chest. He looks to his brother one last time before praying and bowing his head and Yixing’s, as to hide from the prowling monsters.

As Jong Dae looks up, he sees the woman with the marbles and the chipped broadsword. But his eyes are shocked more when he notices an agile figure move effortlessly from one blue garbed assassin to next.

His mouth drops when he sees the purple masked demon jump in front of a blade meant for Wu Yi Fan.

Yixing’s eyes are shifted to the purple clothed man and he freezes against Jong Dae’s chest, his gaze fixated on the man’s swan-like movements. He can’t pay attention long enough because something bludgeons him from behind in the meantime. He croaks. His grip loosens on Yixing and he begins to sway. The intruder grabs him by the collar and pulls him away from the stricken Chinese nobleman.

A kick to his stomach makes him gasp. His scrunches his eyes close and prays to the gods that his brother be there to greet him because he doesn’t want to be alone in the underworld. He feels the cold edge of a wet sword run across his cheek without ripping his flesh. Another kick reminds him to thank Yi Fan one day in the Underworld for at least attempting to save them. He feels the blade coming down to his throat as it slices the air. He prays, and prays, and pr-

The blade never meets the pale skin of his neck. When Jong Dae opens his eyes, pale hands hold a sword with a broken blade. The destroyed weapon holds the intruder’s blade away from Jong Dae’s throat. The assassin cocks his head to the side and blinks. Jong Dae blinks. When he turns to the person who saves him, his breath is momentarily taken away.

Yixing Chen’s lips press firmly into a thin line, his ripped face menacingly hideous in the moonlight. The broken sword is firm in his chapped hands.

But his eyes are the ones that frighten Jong Dae. His eyes spell murder.

*******

**Cho Rip**   


The last assassin left that opposes them is stuck in a stalemate with none other than a scarred man with a broken sword that wasn’t even his. Cho Rip can’t see his true expressions from where he’s standing, but he knows there’s evil lurking in them. No one stands so poised, so perfectly still against an enemy like that.

But his attention is ripped from the Chinaman when he sees Dong Soo come to meet Ifrit’s blade after shoving away the hook man’s punctured body.

He sees Jin Ju falter momentarily. He wants to falter momentarily, but he knows what Dong Soo is doing is proper. It didn’t matter that the two paired assassins practically just saved them- they were still the reason behind four destroyed children.

One lies unconscious in the grass. Another stares in awe as the scarred one begins to combat the blue clothed assassin with his broken sword. The last is behind Ifrit, on his hands and knees.

Crying.

There are many things Cho Rip has seen in his almost thirty years in this world. Only once before had he seen a human cry for a monster- that human now fights against the demon in the purple mask. Now he sees the future lord of the Qing empire on his hands and knees, attempting to _crawl_ to the masked man’s aid and get the warrior to stop.

Cho Rip has seen many things, and he’s going to see some more. But this- this is the one thing he wished he’d never seen.

And when he feels Jin Ju’s cold blade touch his throat, he knows he’s seen too much.

*******

**Jong Dae**

The assassin’s movements are languid but precise, whereas Yixing’s are slow but uncouth. He blocks and jabs, but the jab meets thin air before he jumps and jabs elsewhere and the assassin is too slow to counter.

Yixing is slow on his feet, but he knows what he’s doing. He knows exactly what he’s doing, even if he slips, falls, jumps, swerves, and maneuvers out of the way. Jong Dae sees a way out, and it’s a way provided by Yixing. So he runs, runs to his brother who lays out in the field, ignoring the fact that the warrior and the purple masked man were a few feet away seemingly dueling to their death.

Jong Dae grabs a hold of Min Seok’s body and searches for a sign. He hears his heartbeat when he presses his ear against his chest. His breathing is even. He’s passed out. Jong Dae holds him close to his chest before turning back to the multiple fights, a broken smile on his lips as he aches to cry out that _he’s alive_. That they’re all alive. But the beings engaged in battle have no words for his elation.

He spies Yi Fan’s stricken face clambering towards the man with the purple mask, as if to pull him back into an embrace and away from the warrior’s bloodied sword, only to be roughly shoved back. This causes the warrior to land a clean hit on the demon’s shoulder. This causes the demon to stumble back, and if the mask wasn’t on his face, Jong Dae could have sworn a look of pain graced before his features. This causes Yi Fan to scream. This causes Yi Fan to begin to cry again.

“Baek Dong Soo!” He hears someone roar.

At that, both the demon and the warrior stop while Yixing and the other assassin are in their own world. The warrior’s eyes shine with hatred and agony as he witnesses the blue and white robed woman’s blade press against the Adam’s apple of their bloodied finance minister.

The warrior doesn’t need to be told twice, and his sword drops. Drops to the ground, and Ifrit lowers his jiang. The woman’s blade tightens against the tanned skin, and Dong Soo drops to his knees. Ifrit moves away from him and flits over beside the woman.

Well, he tries. It takes a moment for Jong Dae to register that Yixing Chen has successfully killed a highly trained assassin with nothing but a broken sword and a broken mind. It takes him even longer to register the broken blade pulling itself out of the assassin’s butchered stomach and land a hit on the purple clothed man’s leg, the jagged ends digging deep into his thigh.

The demon does not howl in pain like most beings. It flips his head around so quick, there’s a sickening crack, and his eyes are ablaze in astonishment.

And Jong Dae can _see_. He can see the evil roaring within Yi Fan’s cousin, his face twisting into a cruel smile.

Yi Fan mouths _no_.

His older brother stirs in his arms before cracking his eyes opening and witnessing the broken blade sticking out of the purple masked man.

“ _It’s him,”_ he hears his brother croak.

Jong Dae hears a sickening scream, and catches glimpse of the finance minister bucking to his knees. He sees the warrior rush over to him, the woman move out of the way and towards Yixing and the masked man.

“Hyung,” he breathes.

“That’s the demon that hurt us,” he shudders. “ _He’s the one who ripped open Yixing’s face._ ”

It dawns upon Jong Dae the reason why his brother passed out cold- why, suddenly, the once crazed nobleman with fantasy angel lovers regained his composure and became the celebrated swordsman that he was when he first came to Joseon.

It dawns upon Jong Dae that the demon in the purple mask knows- that the woman in the blue and white robes knows.

Yixing turns his broken weapon, and Jong Dae hears meat twist and rip underneath the flesh. But a second later, two marbles catch the man on his hand and neck and he crumples to the ground, head hitting heavily against a rock.

The warrior cradles the finance minister, while Yi Fan cradles his chest, and Jong Dae cradles his brother.

The masked man and the woman leave, and all that’s left in the end is the quiet lull of demons disappearing with the wind as the cowering remnants of the King’s troupe rise their heads to survey the damage.

Jong Dae’s eyes never leave Yixing Chen’s peaceful face as the wound on his skull spreads blood over the ground like a shroud over a corpse.

*******

**Luhan**

When he sees the brown garbed assassin tending to Tao’s thigh, he has half a mind to cuff the younger man under his ear once more. But he decides against it when he notices the sharp breaths and labored breathing. He drops his qiang and rips off his mask instead, subsequently ambling over and sitting down behind the man before pulling his back against his chest. Tao’s head lolls against his bloodied front and he whispers comforting words into his ears and holds down his arms as the heir to throne applies another stitch. Tao jerks; Luhan assures him everything is OK in the world. Tears prick his brother’s eyes as ugly purple and blue clotting mar the skin around the gutted flesh, and this time Luhan visibly twitches.

_Brother’s head… parading through streets… him…_

When Tao slumps against his chest in a fitful sleep, Luhan doesn’t move. He threads his bloody fingers through hair matted in sweat, blood, and grime. He holds the younger man close to him, like a child holding a doll that could crumble in her hands any time. He breathes in his musky scent and remembers when they were children starving on the streets. He remembers feeding him small morsels of pig meat while his stomach became hollower by the day. He remembers when he passed out in the water and almost drowned because he was just so tired from fishing all day on an empty stomach. He remembers Tao’s tiny face laying next to him crying when he finally woke up. He remembers waking up and feeling alive, even though he was starving. Alive because there was someone next to him when he woke up- alive because it was his baby brother.

And Luhan giggles. Yeo Woon turns his head towards the man whose short bursts of mirth evolved into outright laughter- maniacal laughter. Even Jin Ju recoils.

But they all know the meaning behind the smile and embrace. Soon, there would be vengeance. Jin Ju nods grimly as she grips Yeo Woon’s limp hand tightly. Gu Hyang and the brown garbed youth sit silently next to entrance, their eyes fixated on the man throwing his head back and holding his brother as if he were a child. Soon, there would be vengeance. So, there would be blood.

Luhan’s laugh sends shivers through Yeo Woon’s soul as he lays fearfully underneath his covers.

*******

**Chapter Epilogue**

The remainder of the king’s troupe set up camp as far away from the carnage as possible. But by then, they’d reached the cabin and they decide that they may as well get the rest of the salvaged supplies and just _sleep_. Just sleep.

But no one sleeps except the man with the scarred face. He slept peacefully at first, but then his body began to move and now he shakes and sweats and cries out. Yet no one has the guts to slap him awake.

They don’t have to, though, because eventually he does manage to wake up. It’s at the crack of dawn and the envoy has been sent back to the palace for even more guards and Yixing Chen is underneath warm covers and lying next to his three brothers.

He remember the demon in the purple mask, but he’s already confronted that monster.

Now he remembers a certain color. He remembers a certain color fleeting behind the purple masked demon as it held down his friends, his brother, his comrades before butchering them in whichever way he pleased. He remembers that hue drift behind it, but never actually look at its victims.

He remembers that mask with the jewels stitched on it. He remembers that jacket suitable for a king. He remembers that dark hair that disappeared underneath the jacket, as if it could be longer than it looked. He remembers that other demon that just wouldn’t help- that demon that just watched as Yixing and the others fell.

He remembers.

He thumbs the emerald still pinned to the side of his hair, even though the mask is gone from his face.

_Green._

*******


	9. Chapter 9

**Dong Soo**

There are many things Baek Dong Soo regrets in life. He has enough under his belt to account for eight years of restless sleep, continuous nightmares, and wishing he’d done things differently. Eight more, had he never been ordered back.

There are many small regrets. Like, he wishes he were kinder to Sa Mo. He sometimes wishes he wasn’t such a brat to people In general when he was younger. He wishes he could have seen Jin Ju’s feelings earlier. Small mistakes, easily done because he was a child. But he would like to rectify them nonetheless. But of course, there’s that one mistake he regrets from the bottom of his heart and wishes could just… disappear. Not that it would. It’s ingrained in his body and soul.

He wishes he’d never told Yeo Woon that he loved him. Had he refrained from doing so, the other man would probably have killed him by now, and his unrequited love would have left with his pitiful soul. But instead, he’d told him. He thought at first that he could live with just knowing that he’d fallen for his best friend. He was content with it when they were twelve, hesitant at thirteen, irascible at fourteen, and the older they got, the more he hurt. And the more he hurt, the more he wanted to annoy and lash out on those around him. So when Yeo Woon had demanded on night what was going on in that thick skull of his, he broke down. He cried so hard he had trouble breathing and Yeo Woon held him and he blurted out that he loved him and fell asleep and the next morning they kissed. The rest was history.

And the other man had loved him back. He loved- _loves_ -him back. Dong Soo sometimes thinks that maybe it would have been best if he hadn’t.

“You saw it too, didn’t you?” The Finance Minister asks him after a long while.

He stares blankly into space while ignoring the question and thinking about a time when all that mattered was a simple kiss from Yeo Woon and when their next training session would be.

“If the king fi-”

“He won’t,” he cuts in, matching present to past, connecting fate’s dots and cursing it all the while. “He won’t because the envoys are on their way. He will return to his land and be safe.”

The Finance Minister tenses on his bed. “What do you intend to do?”

“Separate them,” he answers truthfully.

_Before they become you and me, Un-ah._

The minister gawks. “What!? You should be planning on killing the assassin, not meddling in their disastrous love life!”

And at that, Dong Soo laughs. It’s that laugh that he used when the Defense Minister stabbed him after he defeated the Japanese envoy. It was the laugh that marked the end of his former life with Yeo Woon. It was a disheartening laugh- one that never failed to break his heart.

“Don’t you see, Cho Rip-ah,” he whispers gently. “Wu Yi Fan is _me_. And in his misery, he’s fallen for a monster- like I did. If no one stops it now, then they’ll continue this dance until someone gets hurt, or before one of them dies.”

“Then kill the assassin,” Cho Rip snaps. “That finishes the problem for good. The Prince can’t love a dead man.”

But he can, Dong Soo thinks. Yeo Woon was a dead man in all but his body. He was as soulless as he was beautiful, in Dong Soo’s eyes. But Baek Dong Soo still loves him. Is heaven could provide a redo, he’d take the chance in less than a heartbeat.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” the younger man breathes, exasperated at the turn of events.

“They saved us,” Dong Soo adds. “The only reason Jin Ju cut you was because Yixing Chen stabbed Ifrit.”

“And that’s another problem we have to handle,” he snaps. “I mean, you can’t just let them off, can you? They hurt the others!”

“I never said anything about letting them off,” he assured him. “I just need to work this carefully. Ifrit and the Snake are brothers, yes? I’ll work something into that. But the most important thing right now is to get Ifrit out and away from the prince.”

“He’ll just follow him back to Qing if he wants him that much,” Cho Rip deadpans.

“Not if he’s forced to turn his head to different matters,” Dong Soo finishes.

Cho Rip stills. “What the hell are you going to do?”

Dong Soo swallows the guilt creeping up his throat.

_You’ll forgive me for this, won’t you, Un-ah?_

Because Baek Dong Soo is a liar, and regardless of how many years they live without each other and how many kilometers they stay apart- they will love each other.

_All I can do is stall them. If I stall them, then the boy can become emperor, can’t he, Un-ah? Why help continue to vicious cycle? If I can help cut it down now, then at least he can claim his birthright._

Something Baek Dong Soo was, and never will be, able to do.

“Give me everything you have on the demon brothers,” he ends up saying. “If the gods will it, I can stop this from getting out of hand before the Prince kills himself.”

Cho Rip nods. “So back to the palace then?”

Dong Soo nods. “Ifrit will keep watch here.”

“What!” Cho Rip squawks. “You’re going to leave us to the assassins!? And you just said you needed him away from Wu Yi Fan!”

He nods. “They will guard you from the shadows. You saw them three nights ago. Maybe not Ifrit, but Heuksa Chorong. I sensed Jin Ju last night. She could return, or maybe Yeo Woon will, or the Emerald Snake. My presence won’t be missed, I assure you. Once I get to the palace, I will put my plan forth as soon as possible, maybe even before the envoys get here while Heuksa Chorong is occupied here. But I need you to trust me first, Cho Rip. Can you do that?”

It takes every inch of strength in Cho Rip’s body to nod his head grimly.

“Fine,” he finally snaps.

“Then I bid you farewell, my friend.” He replies wistfully, clasping his hand one last time before exiting his room.

The day is cool, and the night will be cooler, he guesses. He turns back to the cabin one more time, spying the crippled nobleman cradling himself as he lay limply against a tree whilst staring into space.

_Can you forgive him, Wu Yi Fan? Can you forgive him for taking one brother’s leg and another’s sanity? Jong Dae’s body will forever host those scars- can you forgive your demon for them? Can you forgive him of his crimes?_

_Or will you set them aside, like I did with mine?_

Baek Dong Soo decides he doesn’t want to know.

*******

**Tao**

“Return before dawn, lest you wish your brother to hunt you down himself,” the older woman deadpans as she ties the extra flap of leather against his injured thigh. “Do not strain yourself when going and when returning. Do not be seen, for if you are, then you might be forced to engage in combat- which you will lose rather quickly due to your injured state. Do not stay for more than thirty minutes for, I repeat, you must return before dawn because your brother will return from scouting _by_ dawn and he’s rather punctual. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” he finds himself chuckle lightly. She doesn’t say anything and instead hands him his jiang and his mask. By the time he’s on his way to the safe compound, all semblance of mirth disappears.

Only to return when he finally reaches the site.

The place is guarded on every corner but in the air. Tao carefully climbs one of the medium sized evergreens and then plants himself on a branch, staring intently at the movements of the soldiers until he’s sure they won’t notice.

He jumps and lands cleanly on a tree. Then he continues to jump from branch to branch until he’s within compound borders. It takes him ten minutes until the soldier lurking by his tree switches spots with another, and he slides down right in time before the latter reaches his new station. Tao slinks with the shadows until he reaches the cabin inhabited solely by the prince, as informed by the Earth Lord.

He melds in with the shadows and sits quietly, clutching his injured leg and attempting to smooth the burn in his thigh. He’s by the window, and soon enough, he hopes, he will get a glimpse of the prince so that he can leave while the pain is still raw and heavy and easy to maintain.

And then he does. A quick, furtive glance takes place when he notices the young man’s giant figure loom over a scroll before picking it up. Tao snaps his head back and away from sight, hoping the shadows keep him in place long enough for the prince to return to his life and away from his sight.

After a good ten minutes, Tao turns back and peeks at the opening. He doesn’t see the figure or a shadow, and guesses it’s a great time to disappear.

What he doesn’t expect to greet him when he gets up to leave is a hand covering his mouth while another presses a needle against his neck before pulling him through the window and into the room.

Right into the embrace of the high prince.

*******

**Yi Fan**

“Oomph!” Yi Fan grunts as the lanky but heavy body slumps against him in defeat. He flings his needle away and hoists the assassin off him and onto the heated floor. He crawls until he’s seeing him face to face.

Well, face to mask, that is. He lands a harsh slap against the so called Ifrit’s clothed face.

“Get up,” he snaps, keeping an eye out for his door.

The man blinks from underneath him.

“You’re thigh is bleeding. Get up so I can bandage it,” he adds harshly before turning away and shuffling towards the medical supplies in the corner.

When he patters back with the bin and the rolls of bandages, he spies the assassin attempting to crawl out the window.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing!?” He all but screeches, dropping the bin in the process and latching on to his leg. “Get back here, you fool!”

But the assassin might be dafter than he once presumed, he thinks. Yi Fan curses underneath his breath as the purple clothed being attempts to wriggle out of his hold and jump out the flap, but his grip is strong and he manages to pull the skinnier man inside.

“Stop it! Stop!” He howls desperately as he tries to stop the assassin from scrambling away.

“Lord Wu! What is the matter?”

Yi Fan’s eyes jump to the sliding door and he looks back and forth between the structure and the man sprawled on the ground.

“Just some difficulty with my scrolls,” he calls back. “Refrain from disturbing me. Tell the other guards as well.” He finishes. He stills, the man underneath him already limp. They resume their struggle when the footsteps fade and the shadow of the lamp disappears from behind the screen.

Except it isn’t much of a struggle. The assassin heaves heavily as the leather strap tightened around his wound soaks blood onto the floor.

“God damn you, demon,” Yi Fan curses again. “Are you so out-of-place with humanity that you can’t even take simple directions? Stay put, I tell you, or else I’ll let the guards carve you out in the courtyard!” He warns briskly, fixing the fallen bin of medical supplies.

Luckily for them, the assassin complies. He leans against pillows placed on the wall and lets his eyes slip shut as Yi Fan unstraps the leather strap and cuts through his uniform’s cloth.

He lets his deft hands clean the wound. His long fingers awkwardly prod the assassin’s thigh, causing the man to stop his hand more than once. But he assures him with a firm glare and continues his work, hand slipping, wrist snapping, the smell of mint and thyme permeating the air as pastes and powders are applied to the pulsating rip in the flesh.

More than one, he lets his brown eyes turn up and take a look at the masked figure’s hidden face, the purple fabric bordered by lavender wire and embedded with pinpricks of jewels. He guesses the glistening studs are diamonds because of their dangerous glint, while the wire reminds him of the material used to hold together more elaborate pendants. There’s one stone, a purple one that doesn’t shine but instead _radiates_ a powerful aura, that rests in the middle of his forehead.

When he gets to wrapping the bandage around his thigh, he notes how the jewel encrusted fabric fits on to the man’s thin face. 75 percent of his face is covered, as well as the beginning of his hairline. Two slits serve as vision compartments, and the cloth around his nose allows him to breathe and talk, he mentally jots down. Both are covered, and the only other places left in the end are his cheeks and mouth. His cheeks are barely covered by the silk, georgette, and chiffon fabrics, while his mouth is without the mask’s confines.

It’s a beautiful mask. Had he been a source of attraction at a fair, the children would have cooed just to touch the vibrant jewel on his forehead.

But he wasn’t, and Yi Fan didn’t want to waste anymore time. Once he finishs tying the band, he takes a strap of black cloth cut from his window curtain and wraps it lightly around the area where the cloth was snipped away.

“So you’re skin won’t be exposed,” he mumbles irritably. He ties one, two, three knots before releasing the leg and flexing his tired fingers. Done and done. Now he could put his guilty conscience to rest and _sleep_.

But he can’t drag himself away. He stays planted in front of blinking man, his soiled hands folded neatly on top of his lap. He looks blankly at the man, a look of utter apathy gracing his features.

The assassin blinks.

Wu Yi Fan clears his throat and straightens his neck, his knees pressing against the warm floorboards as his shoulders reach their height and his essence radiates power.

The assassin blinks again.

Wu Yi Fan manages to blink back.

They stay in that position, with the assassin slumped against the cushions and the prince sitting poised and proper, until a woman calls from outside.

“Your milk, My Lord,” a sweet voice calls from outside.

Yi Fan expects panic or maybe annoyance. But all he gets is a rather flexible assassin moving really quickly across the room and jumping into heavens knew where. It takes Wu Yi Fan to realize the man’s disappeared in less than five seconds and that he’s still seated on his legs.

“My Lord?” The voice calls again.

“C-coming,” he stutters, picking himself up and sliding the door open.

“You mil-”

“Thank you,” he cuts off quickly before shooing the woman away and closing the door. He places the cup of milk on the floor and gets his breathing back in order before glancing at the flapping curtain with the curtailed end. He doesn’t see any shadows or sense anymovement. He heaves a sigh before shuffling over to the water bowl and wiping his hands clean of the remaining blood, grime, and medicine. He picks up his strewn needle and places it back in its rightful place in its lacquer box. Then, he sits himself in the middle of the room, his back to the window and the warm milk cradled in his hands.

“Thank you.”

The sudden voice startles something inside of him, though his face remains passive.

“You’re free to go,” he finds himself deadpanning in response. “Consider your treatment my humble payment for saving my brothers and mine own life.”

He doesn’t turn back. He was probably hiding in the ceiling, he thinks. Or maybe jumped out the window and climbed to the top before crouching down, he assumes. Either way, he’s still here but he’d be leaving now.

_Just like the boy who used to bring me my milk._

It seems like such a long time ago, Yi Fan inwardly sighs. He begins to sulk, his grip on the milk slackening as his shoulders droop and his eyes drop to the floor. It’s been such a long time since he’s seen him. He still remembers the honey brown skin and the bright, toothy smile. His stomach used to stir when he saw him. Wu Yi Fan liked that stirring in his stomach- it made him feel human.

But that was a long time ago, Wu Yi Fan thinks.

What he expects is for his milk to lay in his hands for at least another hour or two as he contemplates on all the mistakes he’s made in his short twenty-two years in the world. He expects the liquid to become cold and for him to gulp it down later and then shiver because it becomes so cold that it feels more like sugar being poured down his throat than actual milk that’s supposed to help him sleep.

What he doesn’t expect is for a hand to enclose his own and gently squeeze it.

He slaps the invading limb away as harshly as he can without actually hurting him. “Get out,” he snaps. “I’m done with you.” He growls, not once turning his way.

Though, he doubts he is. The masked man has been visiting him in his dreams, telling him things in his ears that he can’t decipher. He’s threaded his cold, dead-like fingers through his longer hair and used the frozen appendages to soothe his nightmares’ fevers. He’s pressed and massaged and helped heal his sore bones after this attack or that illness or that mistake. He’s dragged plump, pink lips against his chapped ones and has pressed reassuring kisses to his forehead, signaling him that everything would be OK. The storm would pass, and he’d finally be free.

Wu Yi Fan doubts it. And instead of heeding his words, the assassin simply wraps his arms around his hips and pulls him against the firm contours of his chest, as if knowing the war being waged in his head.

_But he does know. He knew the second he looked into my eyes. He **knows**._

The thought sends waves of fear through his body and he stiffens, the milk slipping out of his hand.

Only to be caught by the assassin’s deft fingers. He places it to the side and lets the offending arm wrap around his waist once more.

“Stop,” he grind out, his nostrils flaring though his hands remain motionless in his lap as he feels the warmth of the shorter man seep into his back.

He doesn’t.

“Please,” he finds his voice breaking.

_Please._

But the man hums. He actually hums, a tune Wu Yi Fan doesn’t recognize. It sounds exotic, as if from the bowels of the foreigners that lived in the lands full of fair haired humans with the blue eyes. Or from the trenches of the lands beyond the rivers where dark skinned humans lay in their sands with their spears and cloaks.

It sounds sweet.

“Do you know that I don’t have a heart?” He hears the assassin say a minute later, as if it were useful trivia for a rainy evening. Yi Fan blinks, his bum sliding to the ground as his legs give out from underneath him.

One of his hands creeps up Yi Fan’s torso and lands on his chest, and right above his heart.

“But you have one,” he deadpans.

Yi Fan is confused. The assassin presses his cold fingers against his flimsily clothed chest, and he feels the coolness seep into his bones.

“My heart’s never beat so fast before,” he admits sheepishly. Yi Fan’s eyes are ahead. “I’m not supposed to have one, however. I’ve been told countless times before that I _cannot_ have one, because if I do, then I’m not in suitable condition to be a demon.” His voice drops a note and Yi Fan feels warm lips lightly brush against the tip of his ear. “Did you know,” he whispers, “that if a demon finds its heart after being christened a monster, then it’s supposed to kill itself then and there?”

The thought sends a ripple of fear up his spine and into his throat. He gulps.

He presses his fingers against Yi Fan’s chest once more. “But it feels nice,” he admits morosely, and Yi Fan’s chest begins to ache. “They said it was wrong to have your heart beat. But gege’s beats more than any other man in this world. He’s let it beat so many times that I sometimes wonder if he’s really the monster they say he is.” Yi Fan feels the demon cock its its head and place it on his shoulder. “But then I see him, and then I see myself- we’re demons. We have no hearts. We-”

Finally the other arm leaves Yi Fan’s waist and he can breathe. The hand hovers in front of Yi Fan and he watches it fall back down, landing softly on Yi Fan’s lap. Cold fingers thread through his long, warm ones.

“We are not supposed to let-” He presses Yi Fans’s chest. “-beat. We can never let our hearts beat. But my brother does. I did. And it feels so _good_.” The hand grasps Yi Fan’s and he jumps, pressing closer back into the shorter man.

Silence overtakes them afterwards, and Yi Fan finds out that his fingers have a mind of their own. His body, in general, stops listening to his cries and gives in. His hands clasp the other’s. He nudges the masked head, allowing the warmth to ooze into his neck. The words in his dreams start to form, and they echo off the chambers of his subconscious, allowing an unfamiliar sense of security settle over his slouching form.

“You will protect me,” he finds himself stating.

_What… why?_

“You will protect me,” he finds himself saying earnestly. “You promised.”

He knows the assassin is confused. He is confused. But his memories- his memories aren’t.

_I heard you._

“You promised you would care for me and my brothers. Your evil- let it fade as you guard me with your life. Then maybe one day the sins of your kind will wash away and give you a new life. But before then- let your heart beat. And let it beat for us.”

_Let it beat for me._

At that, the assassin seems to extend in size and quickly shoves Yi Fan in front of him, attempting to get away.

But Yi Fan is larger, if not quicker.

He gets a hold of one of the arms that spent time on his waist in a way he never thought any man’s would. His grip his firm and the demon stares back, eyes expressionless and form fluid and ready to jump at his slightest mistake. They stand an arm’s length from each other.

“You promised,” he flushes. “I heard you whispering in my ear that night. You were holding me,” he hears his voice crack. “Then you came again a few nights ago. You saved me again. And before that, you came to see me in my sickbed. You kissed my knuckles with reverence. You _promised_ me you’d never let anything touch me, and you kept it. And you will continue to keep it- only because you promised.” He finishes heavily.

“I can promise to steal you away,” the other man deadpans and Yi Fan lets his arm go, eyes wide in confusion. But the assassin doesn’t run. “I can steal you away now, High Prince, and then nothing will ever touch a hair on your head ever again. I can promise you that.” He finishes solemnly.

“W-what?” He heaves. “What does that even mean?” He finds himself barking. “You hurt my brothers; you try to kill me at first; and then you come save me twice. Perhaps more than twice if I wasn’t lucid enough to recognize that you were my savior. Why? Why would you do that?” He screams. “ _Why would you do that to me!?_ ”

That causes the assassin to narrow his eyes pointedly. “High Prince, wh-”

“No,” he cuts off the deep, melodic voice. _No._ “You can’t do that to me. You can’t do this to people like us,” he crows. “You’re either supposed to end us or help us. You can’t do both. You can’t say that your heart isn’t meant to beat when it does. And if it does, you’re supposed to let it. You’re not supposed to consider ending your misery just because you feel like you have to.”

He grabs his shoulders, bringing him so close that their lips could touch. “You told me you wouldn’t kill me because only then would I find peace.” He presses a finger harshly over where the assassin’s heart would have to be. “How can you find your heart beating while I’m in misery? And why save the others when the other assassins attacked our procession? Why not let them die in front of me?” He demands. “Why not let me see them suffer so I could live knowing how helpless I’d become.”

Wu Yi Fan won’t cry. Not in front of him.

“What are you?” He finds himself whispering. “That’s what you asked me that night. What was I? I don’t know. I don’t know what I am, but worst, you don’t know what you are. What is it that you’re doing and why does it make _me_ feel so good? A monster like you doesn’t deserve my sympathy, but you told me to accept myself. And I could. I will. Just as long as you tell me- _why are you doing this_?”

What was he even doing? Wu Yi Fan doesn’t even know. What was he saying? He can’t understand the rambling himself. So he settles for buckling his knees and dropping to the floor. He stares at the demon’s feet covered in hunting boots, perfect tailored to the length of his feet and ankle. He spies the piece from his curtain, acting as a shield against irritation.

He tries to think about why he wanted to repay his bouts of heroism. He wants to think about why he didn’t just pierce that needle into the point on his neck that would calculate instant death. He could have avenged Min Seok, Jong Dae, Yixing. He could have avenged his dignity.

Instead, he sits listlessly on the warm floor.

“I’m sorry.” He hears the other say.

_No, you’re not._

Yi Fan finds himself chuckling humorlessly.

And suddenly, arms enclose him into an embrace, and this time, his head presses again the firm collarbone of the man who never took off his mask.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You’re not, he wants to yell.

“I’ll never leave you,” he promises with vehemence, crushing Yi Fan against him.

_But you will._

“I’ll always be beside you, High Prince.” He mumbles.

_No, you won’t._

And then he presses a kiss on his forehead, and Yi Fan’s breath hitches. The man pushes him back and has himce-to-face. Fingers with little to no semblance of warmth caress his cheek, and he allows his eyes to meet the other’s.

“Liar,” he snarls, hands shaking.

Something hardens in the demon. “I never lie.”

Yi Fan doesn’t want to believe it. “Monsters lie.” He accuses.

“Monsters remain loyal,” he adds. “We remain loyal to our missions to the very end. And my mission is to protect you.”

“Lies,” he seethes.

The demon falls silent and they stare at each other. He finds himself regaining control of his emotions again. He suppresses the urge to wail. And the assassin’s eyes. They’re blank and expressionless, but Yi Fan notes something. There’s something there.

Regret? Anger? Reconsideration?

“Think as you may,” he says after a while. “I don’t intend to impose, High Prince. Forgive me for my impudence. I will do as I have promised and attempt to rectify my mistakes for as long as I live.”

He bows deeply and turns to the window. When an arm lands on a side to hoist himself out, it clicks in Yi Fan’s head. It dawns upon him the ideal swimming in the demon’s eyes as they stared at each other.

_Acceptance._

The demon had accepted his rejection, just like Yi Fan was beginning to accept his reality- his life.

The demon goes to jump out, but Yi Fan’s fingers return to his arm, digging into the flesh of his muscled arms. The demon tenses.

And Wu Yi Fan finds himself enveloping the demon from behind, his chest now cradling the same warmth it had before when he first pulled the man through his window and into his chambers.

And tears fall.

“What have you done to me?” He cries into his neck, his voice breaking and knees wobbling.

The demon turns around one more time and holds him against his chest as he wracks sobs into his chest.

“If you can forgive me, I can help you. We can help each other.”

But Yi Fan doesn’t believe it. He’s always lived a quaint lifestyle. He should have been content with his happenstance. He should have accepted his fate. He should have died. But he didn’t, as if the heavens were playing tricks on him. He felt for a man, which entitled him to death. And now he felt for a demon, which entitled him to hell.

“What have you done to me?” He whispers again, his warm tears cooling against his skin.

“Forgive me, my love.” He hears him whisper.

… _what?_

“Forgive me, and I will bring the heavens to your door and beckon hell to your command. Just… forgive me. Trust me, my prince.”

_no no no no no_

He slackens against the man’s hold and he grabs a hold of his waist. He leads him to his bedding and gently pushes him down, his head hitting the pillow softly. Yi Fan’s eyes are glassy and his eyes are rimmed with tears and crust.

_What did you say?_

Deep, dark eyes peer down on him lovingly. There’s no lust- just reverence. Servitude. Affection.

Promise.

_Why?_

Because I love you, that’s why, is what the eyes are saying to him. That’s what the demon is telling him with his silence, his affectionate thumbing of his wet cheeks, his gentle kneading of his hair.

_Because… you love me?_

“You’re very beautiful, my prince,” he hears him whisper admiringly. “You have the longest eyelashes, and the firmest fingers, and such beautiful hair. Please don’t cry anymore, my lord,” he pleads before pressing another kiss to his forehead.

“Stay with me tonight” he demands at last. “… hold me.”

_Make me feel what you feel._

He sees hesitation bloom for a second before it dissipates.

The demon nods. “If my lord wishes, then so be it.”

Yi Fan turns away from the man and stares at the wall, laying on his side. He feels the fully clothed being place himself beside him, throwing an arm around his waist but not pulling him close to his chest.

“Come closer,” he bids. And he does. Yi Fan feels warmth cascade his back once more, and the masked face fondles his dark, long tresses. “Tell me everything,” he finds himself say.

“In regards to what?” The demon asks gently.

“Everything about you,” he states. “You know everything about me, but I know nothing of you. Who you are underneath and above the mask. You are a shadow for now. No human can love his shadow.”

_And I want to love you. I want to love you so I can condemn my soul to hell with you- so we can be together in the afterlife. If not now, then surely then._

“My Prince does not have to love me,” the demon admits. “As long as he lets this monster love him, then this demon is content. I am content, my lord.”

“No,” he finds himself snapping. “I want to know.”

_I want to know you like you know me._

“Please,” he ends up croaking.

And that does it, because then he begins to speak. His voice is deep, but melodic. It’s a sweet sound, and heavily mixed with different accents. He hears him slip into Chinese after a minute of Korean. He then hears him slip in words from different languages, and he recognizes a few from his studies. He listens intently, all the while staring at the pecked wall studded with nails and holding mats and clothes.

“What’s your name?” He interrupts.

The demon stills. “Which one?”

Wu Yi Fan is many things, but he’s not dumb. He knows for sure that he will never see what’s beneath that mask.

“The one you use at night- the one everyone fears.”

The body behind him releases a silent sigh Yi Fan feels through the vibrations on his back.

“Ifrit,” he says. “They call me Ifrit.”

“Ifrit,” Yi Fan repeats before telling him to continue his story.

Ifrit, he continues in his head as the night goes on and the demon whispers tales of wonder and mischief into his ear.

Somewhere along the way, Yi Fan thinks he’s probably crossed the point of no return.

After he’s asleep and the demon has cocooned him protectively from behind, he realizes in his dreams that he has.

*******

**Luhan**

“-going to tear his manhood off and feed it to him,” he roars, the brown garbed youth wincing at the change in decibel. “I mean, I told him to say put. At least for a week, damn it! But _no_ , my princey needs me, Luhan-ge, he needs me to rut him from behind and into the floor so he can be mineminemine!”

The brown garbed youth blinks as they continue to walk. Huang Luhan wipes his forehead and beats his chest.

“I controlled myself, damn it. You saw!” He exclaims to the youth who continues to move downhill and towards the safehouse compound. “I haven’t seen my darling for almost a week. I was going to go after Taozi got better, but no! No one cares about me; everyone cares about _him_!”

That formless, flat-assed, inhumanely giant Qing prince that belonged in the gutter instead of the procession to the throne, Huang Luhan seethes. Really. Tonight he’d rip everyone a new one.

Once they reach the compound it’s easily to maneuvere around because dawn was almost here and even the most diligent of night guards were droopy with sleep. It didn’t take long for them to find the first prince’s cabin, and he quickly tells the youth to be on the lookout while he creeps towards the future emperor’s quarters.

When he silently slinks in through the door, he almost gags.

His younger brother sleeps soundly, his head nestled on the back of the prince’s shoulder, an arm around his waist and his mask still firmly on his face. Scandalized, he takes a look at the offending prince.

Asleep and his face in a blissful state. There’s a ghostly smile on his lips. They’re both fully clothed, and clothes only rumpled where their limbs are splayed. Luhan wants to throw a fit.

And there’s milk in the corner. Spoiled milk. Milk that should have not gone to waste. This really, _really_ pisses Luhan off.

Surely, but gently, he prods his brother awake. When the younger man’s eyes flutter open, he freezes up and Luhan places a hand over his mouth. He gestures towards the window. Tao looks and sees the first rays of light. Soon, the day guards would take their place and the brothers would have to take off their masks.

And Tao understands. He carefully untangles him from the younger man and rises silently from his place beside him. Luhan irritably waves his hand, but Tao ignores him. He huffs, eyes glistening with anger.

Tao presses a kiss to his forehead before pulling the comforter up to his shoulder.

And then they leave.

But not before Luhan takes a peek at his darling. Tao doesn’t say anything, but he wants him to. He wants him to judge him.

But Tao doesn’t, and that’s what irks him the most that morning.

His lands his eyes on the sleeping figure gently breathing in an out, his mask folded next to his head. But there’s a bandage wrapped around his head and he remembers when Tao told him that Yixing Chen was injured during the battle. He also remembers him saying that Yixing Chen saved him from one of the assassins, which is why he only got off with a simple wound to the thigh.

Luhan’s eyes glisten with mirth and pride as he stares longingly at the slumbering figure.

_Soon, my love._

Soon, they would be together. Soon, because Luhan didn’t want to wait anymore. The three assassins practically ran back to the castle together, and once inside, collapsed to the floor.

_Soon, it’ll end and we’ll be together._

If only he could’ve seen the pain glazing Tao’s eyes when he blatantly lied.

*******


	10. Chapter 10

**Luhan**

It took chains to hold Zi Tao back for a week. He struggled, pleaded, even promised he’d do the world a favor and snap the prince’s neck at the end of it all and bring his body home if only Luhan allowed him go and see him once.

But he’d been in his position before, and said the same things and then some.

So he decided to do everyone a favor and stay in the castle with the man as Jin Ju and the brown garbed youth took turns keeping an eye on the compound. For the next eight days, all was quiet and quaint in the woods, and the two brothers were almost at arms with each other.

Tao, with his narrowed eyes and seething. Luhan, with his passive aggressiveness and persistent smile.

“Let’s play a card game,” he finds himself clapping on the eighth day. Tao shifts his body and turns the other way to watch the wall. “Taoziiii,” he whines, a pout gracing his plump lips. “Come one, let’s play! I’m bored and you’re brooding. That’s not a good combination!”

Not that Luhan isn’t suffering from his own woes. At night, he aches. A lot. He takes an hour, creeps into an empty room and locks the door. He does all the bad things his mother would have told him not to do if she was a real mother instead of a monster.

He imagines pale, creamy skin and lush red lips, dark hair strewn across a pillow as his hands tangle themselves in their hold. An arching back and a toned tummy that beckons for him to caress and squeeze and lightly tread his fingers down. Milky thighs and a soft bum, one fitting perfectly into the cusp of his hands. He dreams of taking the figure in all his deeply scarred beauty and making him his, once and for all.

And when he finishes, he curses his luck and then his patience. He bathes and changes clothes before returning to his brother’s bedside and resuming his pestering.

“Come _on_ , Tao-er!” He whines, shaking his shoulder. “You can’t just make me stare at you for the rest of the night! I know you’re awake, you know!” He ends up huffing, crossing his arms and sticking out his bottom lip. Tao doesn’t budge. He hears the door click open and the Sky Lord tentatively walk in. He turns around instantly.

“Hyung,” he speaks softly. “A word, please.”

Luhan blinks. Ever since the younger man was allowed out of his sickbed and back on duty, he’d been busy nonstop trying to catch up on the work. Luhan had barely seen him the past few days.

“Sure,” he replies turns around to squeeze Tao’s shoulder before following the younger man out.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, genuinely befuddled by the man’s sudden request for a talk.

Yeo Woon clears his throat before turning around to face him. “Don’t you think it’s been long enough? Gu Hyang-sshi tells me he’s more than fit to fight and run around.”

Luhan blinks. “Say what now?”

The Sky Lord seems to be squirming in his boots, but Luhan can’t quite decipher the movements entirely. “What I mean to say is… perhaps you both should take the guard duty tonight. It’s been so long since you’ve seen your lovers, and I know you’ve been especially pressed lately.”

Luhan’s taken aback. “What do you mean “pressed lately,” he all but growls, his eyes narrowing into slits.

“Ahjumma in the kitchen said you’ve stopped making the good dishes,” he blurts out. “And the others have gotten so… sad lately,” he sighs. “They’re craving for your plum paste pies and apricot wine, but you only roast foal and steam the rice before retreating to your work on raiding assassin camps and then coming home to stay beside Tao. It’s disconcerting to us all. And you haven’t been smiling enough,” he points out.

That really sends a shock through Luhan, because he always smiles. Always.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he huffs before turning his eyes away. “Tao stays under house arrest until he heals properly an-”

“But he _is_ healed,” Yeo Woon pleads. “It’s been a week, hyung. You’ve applied all types of concoctions and pastes on both him and I. He should have been out and about earlier than me, but instead you have him chained to the bed. I really do think it’s best if you both get some fresh air. _Please_.”

The sincerity in his voice irks Luhan, but he feels his heart tug. He hasn’t seen Yixing in a week. Just because he wanted to be on equal grounds with Tao. He inwardly curses.

“No,” he snaps. “He’s not leaving this house till he’s sound of both mind and body. Wh-”

“Hyung, _please_ ,” he pleads. “You’re scaring the children!”

And by children, he knows he means all the assassins currently snooping on their conversation. There are so many of them these days that there’s at least five in every hall and one outside every room, except the room Luhan goes to lurk in every night because they know better than to disturb them.

“And I need to speak to Jin Ju tonight,” he deadpans. “But she’s been calling off all our meetings with excuses to fulfill duties _you’re_ supposed to handle,” he adds nonchalantly.

“Ask som-”

“Hyung,” he cuts in. “Please,” he deadpans.

Luhan blinks.

Yeo Woon’s eyes are blank, lips are still, and face is as blank as the floor in one of the classrooms upstairs.

“ _Fine_ ,” he seethes. “My brother is in love with an ugly prince, and it’ll be _you’re_ fault when they end up having deformed kids!”

Yeo Woon doesn’t have to roll his eyes for Luhan to feel judged. “Men cannot make babies together, hyung.”

“But princes do with concubines and no doubt one of the brats is going to end up calling Taozi “daddy” and then I’ll be forced to play uncle!” He screeches. One of the child assassins-in-training sends Luhan a wry look.

“See, hyung?” Yeo Woon gestures with a nod. “Even the medic-nin judge you.”

Luhan storms out of the hall with a huff.

**~*~**

But like all things that regard to Taozi, now Yeo Woon, Jin Ju, Gu Hyang, and even that adorably awkward brown garbed assassin- Luhan had to give up sooner or later.

So he struck a deal with the Sky Lord that they’d start the next day so that he could spend this night preparing mournful apologies in the form of poems for the wife who didn’t even say good morning to him anymore. Luhan expected him to cry a little a little during the story. He didn’t.

And now they’re on their way, the ninth night since Luhan found his brother spooning the hideously tall giant with the permanent grimace. Honestly, he didn’t know what the twenty-eight year old man with the perfect looks saw in the mangled form of the first prince, and he thinks later that he doesn’t really want to know.

So when they reach the compound, Tao practically bouncing with as much excitement that could befit an assassin, Luhan clears his throat.

“Rules,” he states.

“Rules?” Tao questions.

“Rules,” he repeats. “Two hours. Meet me back here. We leave an hour before dawn.” Tao nods and goes to flit and jump the rest of the way, but Luhan grabs his arm before he can. Tao gives him a puzzling look. “One more thing.”

Tao blinks.

“Steer clear from the Warrior.”

It dawns upon Ifrit, the fact of the matter, and he understands. A solemn nod later, he pulls on his mask and melds into the shadows before making his way towards his prince’s cabin. Luhan takes ten minutes to scout the compound before slipping in behind Jong Dae’s cabin, and creeping towards Yixing’s.

When he slides the door open and slinks in, he finds the scarcely dressed male sleeping soundly on his bedspread, comforter bunched up and pressed against his almost bare chest.

Luhan’s voice hitches.

Footsteps from outside the cabin door perk his ears and he quickly jumps up and plants himself between the ceiling beams, looking down on the sleeping figure below. The door slides open to reveal a maid. She places a plate of dumplings, Luhan thinks, and a bowl of liquid that could only be soy sauce on the floor before stepping out and sliding the door shut. He waits till he hears the woman’s light treads fleet away before descending to the ground again with a gentle thump.

But that’s enough to wake him up. When Luhan turns to the man, his bright smile falters when he sees hateful brown eyes look back at him.

*******

**Tao**

“Where were you?” He hisses, engulfing him into a tight hug. Tao refuses to answer for a minute, instead choosing to breathe in the fresh scent of the prince who barely slept. His arms tighten around his waist, feeling the loose straps of his night clothes while something carnal stirs in his stomach.

“I thought you’d left,” he manages to croak. “Don’t ever plan on breaking your promise to me,” the taller man threatens into his ear before nuzzling the top of his head.

Tao lets a smile tug on his lips. If only High prince could see it. “My brother had things he wanted me to do,” he tries tentatively, attempting to push himself closer. “I had to obey.”

Yi Fan finally lets go and gestures for him to sit on the pillows he already has set out. There’s a plate of rice and a bowl of sake in the middle. Tao watches as the prince loosens the sticky product with his chopsticks before taking a clump and bringing it to Tao’s mouth.

Tao’s heart breaks.

“I cannot,” he says gently from behind the purple clothed mask.

“Just the mouth piece,” Yi Fan urges.

Tao’s mask barely covers his mouth, but juts of studded spikes creep on his lips, rendering him useless in anything but talking. When he first kissed the prince, it hurt to poke his lips through the sharp spokes.

The prince has never seen his lips. He intends to keep it that way.

“I’m sorry.” He says, dropping his eyes to the ground and he bows his head.

“Fine,” Yi Fan seethes, obviously irritated. Tao spends the next ten minutes watching the gang prince shovel clumps of rice into his mouth, chew, and then swallow. He pours him a cup of sake and without another word, he gulps it down. He continues to pour cup after cup, keeping watch as a pink flush crept towards his cheeks.

When he’s finished, his face is red and his eyes groggy but he’s no where near intoxicated. Just a little ditzy, Tao finds, and he likes that. It reminds him of Yeo Woon, who could only do a jug and a half before passing out while Jin Ju kept downing barrels like it was nobody’s business.

“Hold me,” he commands lightly, and Tao chuckles, shoving the plate, cup, and jug aside before pulling the prince into his lap. Hi head lulls against his shoulder.

“Tell me about your brother.” He whispers.

“Why?” He asks, a bit confused at the request.

“You talked so much about him,” he ends up sighing. “He sounds amazing, but unreal. Like some kind of supernatural force. Are you sure the Emerald Snake even exists?”

Tao wants to tell him to go look up police records all throughout Joseon and beyond. We exist, he wants to say.

“He exists as much as I do,” he manages to reply before pressing a kiss to his cheek, his arm snaking around the taller man’s waist as he casually slouches against him.

“Tell me about him, then.” He deadpans. “Don’t gush,” he warns. “Tell me about him- his likes and dislikes. What he wants to achieve, what you are to him. Tell me so I can understand you better.”

Tao nods his head, knowing he wouldn’t be able to deny his call even if he tried. “As you wish.”

And Tao begins, not noticing the slight stiffening of the high prince’s figure.

*******

**Luhan**

“Yi… xing?” He tries, suddenly losing the giddy feeling in his stomach. A serious look graces his face as he attempts to get closer to the figure laying down and throwing metaphorical daggers at him. “Yixing-sshi,” he tries. “It’s me, Luhan- your angel.”

That seems to stir some recognition into the man’s sleep caked eyes, and he blinks a few times. Luhan stills, his heels planted on the floor, his hands splayed in front of him.

Yixing Chen takes a moment to register his surroundings and rub his eyes before looking up at Luhan again.

“Luhan,” he breathes knowingly.

And Luhan’s smile returns.

He lets the younger man untangle him from his sheets and pull his robe closer to his ghostly pale skin before beckoning towards him. He takes a seat next to the scarred young man and promptly pulls him into a hug, ignoring the sudden rigidity that overtook his body.

He pressed a kiss to his forehead. “How are you, dodo-brain?” He jokes. “I heard you managed to get yourself beaten up by a bunch of cracks. But fear not,” he adds. “If they’re not already dead, I’ll get them for you. No one hurts you. It won’t happen again, love,” he finds himself soothing. “I promise.”

But the man begins to wriggle out of his arms and Luhan takes the hint. He lets go and watches as he scratches behind his ears and then fumble with his hands.

“I’m hungry,” he ends up mumbling.

Realization comes to Luhan. “Oh.”

He quickly patters over to the dumplings and sauce. After placing them in front of Yixing, he searches through the cabinets and finds a half jug of mulled honey wine and two cups. He clicks his tongue.

“First, a toast,” he whispers excitedly. Yixing blinks, his befuddlement from the early days of his relationship coming back.

Luhan pours the drink into the two cups, and hands one to the nobleman, watching as he tentatively cradles the object with both hands. Luhan clears his throat.

“To us,” he declares. “And soon, we’ll be together forever,” he adds. The change in Yixing’s expression is undefinable, but Luhan is too excited to say something about it. “Hand in hand on the tallest mountains, my arm around your waist as we ride camels in the desert and watch the raw sun set. Perfection.”

Yixing coughs, and taps his cup against Luhan’s quickly before downing his liquid. Luhan does the same and smiles as he begins taking dumplings with the chopsticks, dumping them in the sauce, and plopping them into Yixing’s mouth one-by-one.

In his excitement, he doesn’t notice that the green emerald he gave him was no longer pinned to the side of his hair.

And he definitely doesn’t notice the intense gaze that’s planted directly on the emerald pendant on the end of his braid, oval-shaped and hard, pinned tightly in place.

Yixing’s eyes don’t leave his being once.

*******

**Tao**

“So… he saved you from a spider. You’re afraid of spiders.” The prince deadpans, the high of the wine gone, his voice clear and sharp once more.

_Terrified, actually._

But he tries not to emasculate himself even more.

“It was… a difficult evening. He helped me off the roof once he came back and killed the wretched creature.”

“Your brother had to save you from a spider that didn’t even notice you were there. How cute.”

Tao doesn’t know whether to laugh or mirror the taller man’s scowl. “Well, excuse me,” he huffs.

“He takes care of you,” the prince says a little while later, one of his hands locked with Tao’s. “I envy him.”

_I envy him too._

“He’s my brother,” he finds himself saying. “I guess… he’s supposed to. He does an excellent job.”

_He’s supposed to have killed me. Instead, he fed me, raised me, and kept me by his side for over twenty years. If there’s anyone demon out there that deserves a chance at humanity, it’s him._

But he can’t say that, because if he does, he knows he’ll start crying. And he can’t. Not in front of the beautiful prince.

But the prince is oddly quiet now, and he’s not thumbing Tao’s knuckles or playing with the tips of his fingers. He’s silent and still, and Tao’s a little scared.

“High Prince?” He prods gently.

“He does an excellent job,” he repeats impassively. “I looked through the police records in the Finance Minister’s quarters.”

Then why ask, he wants to question. _Why make me speak endlessly for the past last hour?_

“You’ve been everywhere.” He begins. “From the lands belonging to the white haired men, to the lands owned by the Bedouins and the Hindus in their Kush. You’ve done everything. Multiple sources claimed one time that they’d managed to kill Ifrit of the Desert, but later on, each and every one of them turned up dead- hacked to death, torn to shreds, butchered in front of their wives. All by a certain demon clothed entirely in shades of green with skins of black and a magnificent spear with the sharpest tip known to man.”

It’s as if he’s reciting a book. He probably is. There are multiple accounts out there about them. From official records, to word-of-mouth, to volumes written by the town drunk.

“My brother… he is a difficult man to deny,” he admits.

“But he takes care of you,” he alleges. “You’re alive, despite being deemed dead multiple times. You come back, do it again, someone tries to kill you, they fail, and he just magically comes in and finishes everyone off. And yet, not one source that I was able to comb through says that the Emerald Snake of the Dark Isle was defeated. Or almost killed. Or even brought to his knees. He’s been deemed _invincible_.”

“We’re not invincible,” he sharply counters, and he finds himself edging away from the prince to gather his thoughts.

The prince pulls his away and turns around, sitting an arm’s length away from him. He straightens his posture, his expression blank and his hands folded neatly on his lap. He keeps silent as Tao calms himself and the emotions raging his chest.

When he does, he guiltily looks up to the quiet man sitting in the same position for the past fifteen minutes. When Tao crawls closer, he doesn’t budge nor does he look away. But his eyes no longer hold the reluctant warmth they did before, and when Tao caresses his hands over his folded ones, he doesn’t attempt to caress back.

“Forgive me, my lord.” He bows deeply, his masked nosed touching the floor. “That was rude of me.”

“A monster like him- keeping you alive all these years,” he hears the man say. Tao raises his head and narrows his eyes. “Killers keeping other monsters safe. And success. Success for the past twenty odd years.” The High Prince laughs, but this laugh isn’t at all sweet or kind, but wretched and broken, filled with misery and self-loathing. “I am to be emperor, and I can’t even take care of my cousin, and my people expect me to take care of them.”

And Tao understands.

_Am I getting dafter by the day? My Prince, no. Please, **don’t**. _

“I-”

“Did you think you’d be doing the world a favor by letting me live?” He cuts in, brown eyes boring into his. “I assume not. You’ve just made it worse. All I can do to rectify your reluctance is to change myself. But what do I do, when I can’t even accept that my lover’s brother is doing a better job at protecting his back than I am protecting a damned rock.”

“But that’s not the point!” He counters. “You have yet to learn so many things, to see so many places that await you. And it’s my fault Yix-”

“But I can never truly protect you, now can I?” He protests. “Nor can I protect Yixing, or Jong Dae, or Min Seok.” Another broken laugh. “I am as weak as they come. What am I, Ifrit of the Sand? I envy your brother, a cruel demon of the night. I’m starting to fall in love, if I haven’t already, with a creature such as you. What’s happened?”

“Nothing,” he finds himself answering. “It was meant to be. _We_ were meant to be. Monsters and humans have loved each other since the beginning.” He beckons the taller man’s chin and caresses his cheeks. “It’s why we still exist. Believe in me, my prince. I will make sure yo become the greatest emperor in the land. You will be safe. Your children, your concubines, and your brothers. I swear to you,” he claims, taking one of Yi Fan’s hands and placing it on his chest. “I swear to you.”

Yi Fan hitches his breath and pulls his hand away before grabbing the back of his head and forcing his lips onto his.

*******

**Chapter Epilogue**

The prince’s skin is soft and warm against the purple demon’s rough, cold fingers. He lets the prince’s tongue probe the warm cavern of his mouth while he lets his hands slide underneath his robe and caress the taught stomach and the firm chest. Once they break apart, the demon notices that the prince’s lips are bruised and bleeding, the juts on his mask spotted with blood. When the latter tries to drink his taste again, he pushes him away and on to the heated floor. Then he embraces him, and the prince understands. Morosely, he spends the rest of their time together by feeling the roughness and silkiness of the mask, the demon lying on his side next to him and holding him close. The prince leads his hands underneath his robe and lets him feel the long dark locks he has to hide because it’s so long and because Joseon’s people weren’t fond of braids on men. The purple pulls him closer and rests his masked forehead against the prince’s flushed one, his hand silently stroking the dark tresses running to his waist.

The green demon doesn’t touch his lover again, for he finally notices the questionable gaze. But eventually, the young man places his hand on top of the green demon’s, and the green demon finally smiles for real again. They spend the rest of the wee hours in silence, clutching each other’s hands and staring out the window before Yixing begins to doze off and. The demon tucks him in but refrains from caressing him too much, watching the anger from before flit across his eyes. They don’t even kiss when it’s finally time for him to leave, and unlike before, the nobleman doesn’t ask him to stay behind or even gesture the thought. The green demon sets the dirty plates, jug, and cups in front of the door and removes any mention of his presence in the room before slipping out the window.

When the emerald reaches the tree, he sees the amethyst already standing there with his arms crossed against his chest. Silently, they begin their way back to Heuksa Chorong.

But there’s a beat to the amethyst’s step, while the emerald dolefully follows behind.

*******


	11. Chapter 11

For one whole month, the green demon went through a million mental somersaults and bouts of physical abuse. Not once did he throw up the bile in his mouth. Not once did he retaliate against his attacker.

Instead, he found himself cooking, cleaning, and taking care of his aggressor.

For one whole month, the purple demon went through a million bouts of insecurity and helplessness. Not once did he attempt to touch his lover inappropriately without his permission. Not once did he deny the man touches he sought after.

Instead, he found himself catering to his prince’s every desire.

Sometimes, Yixing Chen got angry and started hitting the demon dressed gallantly in green snakeskins and leather hide boots. Sometimes he yanked at his braid, pulling out jewels and pins, stabbing his fingers in the process and oiling his palms. At times, he went as far as taking chopsticks to his throat, but never actually went ahead with pushing the wooding utensils through the soft skin of his neck.

Sometimes, Wu Yi Fan met the demon dressed in swatches of purple and black out by the river a mile from the compound. Sometimes, they sat by the water, huddled close to each other, as the demon told his prince about the worlds afar where women wore hats in their hair and had golden locks to their shoulder, their bright blue eyes as clear as the ocean. At times, Wu Yi Fan told the demon to tell him more about himself and his makeshift family, pushing and prodding until he fell asleep and the demon had to carry him back to his compound.

Other times, Yixing Chen wailed day and night for the demon-masquerading-as-an-angel to come back when he went away for days. Sometimes it was because of work; sometimes it was because it was too cold to make the trip to the compound and the Earth Lord absolutely forbade it. The nobleman cried and beat his chest and attacked the maids and exclaimed that his angel was coming to take him away and that they could do nothing about it. One day, he pushed a maid so hard that she went through the screen door and banged her head on the wooden steps outside. Min Seok, a man who was lauded for his sound-mindedness and collectivity, snapped and beat the Chinaman into submission, telling him that if he ever attacked another person again, he’s personally throw him at the king’s feet and sign off on his exile.

Other times, Wu Yi Fan remembered clearly what the demon told him during the night, and matched stories with what the soldiers knew and what the scrolls said in Yang Cho Rip’s, or the infamous Finance Minister’s, quarters. Once, he asked the Warrior for confirmation about their assasilants-turned-saviors being the Emerald and Amythest demons. He had said yes. Yi Fan had kept it in mind.

When the green demon returned after his leave of absence, he always lurked around the compound for a few hours before he went inside. When he did, his nobleman usually either sat silently staring out the window and at the moon, or asleep under his covers. If he was awake, and the man noticed, he’s pounce on the unmasked monster and hug him. He’d cry into his shoulders about how terrible of a human being he was and that he was sorry and that he couldn’t take it anymore and that he wanted to go away _now_. And the Emerald Snake wiped his tears away, fed him the food he’d made for him, held him to his chest and forgave him. On nights he was asleep, the demon laid down next to him and stared while stroking his scarred cheeks.

Ifrit of the Sand spent countless nights away from the prince, writing underneath his sheets in a private room and straining to quell the passion and desire running through his veins. Unlike his brother, he’d never bedded someone before, and never cared for the thought of it until the prince urged him to massage his shoulders and kiss neck and press his thumbs against the hardened nubs of his nipples. His mask never came off, and he never intended for it to do so, so he was left with memories, and ghostly feelings of past touches and murmurs into his ear that promised more than just love, lust, and longing. When the prince was awake on the nights after his absences, they embraced each other and spoke in hushed tones and promised each other that their love would never die as the prince led his cold hand underneath his robe and urged him to press against his stomach and chest as he breathed heavily underneath him. On nights when he returned and the Prince was asleep, his lust faded and he sat staring at awe at the most beautiful being he’s ever seen, promising himself that this was the man he intended to die for in the end.

On the particular night after the threats made by Min Seok, Yixing Chen sat numbly on his bed spread and rocked back and forth, eyes on the sliding door as he awaited his demon. His demon did not come that night, or the one after it.

On that particular night after the threats made by Min Seok, Wu Yi Fan prayed to his god for the demon to show up and help him find a way to save his wayward cousin. His demon, too, did not come that night, or the one after it.

Heavily clouded with their own misery, no one noticed Baek Dong Soo’s peering eyes as he caught the Sand Demon whisk away the future prince on some nights.

And no one, especially not the others, noticed Jong Dae when he swore to the heavens that he saw a familiar emerald that was once glaring from the nape of the neck of the demon who’d cut him-swore that he saw that monster creeping around and nearing towards Yixing Chen’s room, his mask pulled tightly on his head.

The night after Min Seok made his pledge to silence Yixing once and for all was the night the warrior and Jong Dae decided that things needed to change- now. This wasn’t the reality they were meant to suffer, and they’d be damned if it was the reality they were forced to live.

*******

**Tao**

“I found the route and paid for the passage. It will be here before the envoys come, but it will sail back the same day the envoys arrive. The ships will brush shoulders. Their captains will wave and their passengers will guffaw. But it will do its job.”

He’d been waiting for this day for over a month know. Figures it would have to be in the dead of winter.

“Thank you, Yeo Woon,” he says politely. “I will prepare post haste.”

“The ship will be here in three days time,” he warns. “Finish what you must, as will I.”

Tao cocks his head to his side. “Why should you prepare anything?”

The Sky Lord pinches his nose before tying up the scroll and looking up to him. “I intend to leave with you.”

*******

**Luhan**

“And he’s violent, son,” he whispers emphatically, rubbing his temples as the brown garbed youth rubs away the soreness in his shoulders. “Two nights ago, he tried to _claw_ my eyes out. Claw them out! Do you hear this!? Told me I was a terrible angel and that I was tricking him when all I do is _love_ him! Ugh!”

Gu Hyang pats his knuckles. “It happens,” she reassures. “The Earth Lord admitted that the injury to his head was severe. Perhaps he just needs more time to heal before he gets back to normal.”

“What _is_ normal, Gu Hyang-sshi,” he wails dramatically, plopping a cherry into his mouth in the process. “I barely knew him before he was attacked, and the man I knew after he was attacked is nothing compared to the man I know now after _another_ attack. Too many personae!”

“I blame the wine,” Jin Ju inadvertently drawls.

Luhan blinks. “When did you get here?”

“After sidestepping Woonie and threatening to cut his balls off if he followed me,” she replies with a bored look on her face.

“Touche,” he agrees. “Anywho, it’s madness! He used to be so pliant underneath my fingers. Now he’s just mean!”

“Maybe you should try holding him when he tries to hurt you,” the brown garbed youth advises.

Everyone turns to him, shock written in their eyes.

“Did he just talk?” Gu Hyang blinks.

“By god, that voice.” Luhan breathes.

“Shouldn’t he be singing?” Jin Ju squawks.

“God save the demons.” They mutter in unison.

“… but he’s right, however,” Gu Hyang picks up. “Be gentle with him.”

“He’s like a new wife, attempting to assimilate to his husband and his new surroundings without hurting himself. But he’s stressed out,” Jin Ju warns, “so he needs gentleness and warmth to better fit himself into his new life.”

“Yes, yes,” Gu Hyang nods. “He needs food and warmth and lots of careful touching. So when he lashes out, try holding him and soothing him and tell him everything’s going to get better.”

“But I do that already!” He replies furiously. “And all he does is hit me more and tear at my hair. He tore out one of my emeralds last time and threw it somewhere I couldn’t reach in to,” he sobs, the youth patting his shoulders in understanding.

“Then kiss him,” Jin Ju urges.

Luhan blinks away tears. “What? We haven’t kissed in over a month. Won’t let me near those things!”

“Then do it,” Gu Hyang advises. “Peck him on the lips and then hold him to your chest. He’ll melt faster than pig’s fat in a hot pan.”

“And probably ask for more,” Jin Ju drawls.

“What if he tries to bite my lips off?” He asks fearfully.

“His manhood would probably say otherwise.” The Earth lady finishes.

At that, the brown garbed youth coughs and Gu Hyang pats his shoulder.

“Then it’s decided?” Luhan chirps, oddly happy again.

“You might as well make an honest man out of him afterwards. We’ll even hold the ceremony in the throne room,” Jin Ju promises.

“More loonies in the castle? Earth Lady, please.” Gu Hyang drawls.

“That’s _my_ loony you’re talking about, Gu Hyang-sshi,” he gasps, entirely too offended.

“Be gentle, remember,” Gu Hyang replies.

“And bring that linseed oil with you. I heard it’s more comfortable than the scented ones, which are found to be rather irritating afterwards.” Jin Ju adds.

The brown garbed youth gags. Luhan pats his knuckles.

“I’ll bring it with me. And maybe a gift too. What kind of gift should I get?”

“Take two days to figure it out,” Gu Hyang says. “We’ll help.”

“But Taozi’s visiting his tonight,” he whines. “You know I can’t let him go unsupervised!”

“Hyung,” Jin Ju deadpans. “He’s not the one getting mauled by his wife- you are.”

“And visibly so,” Gu Hyang tuts, thumbing over a pale scar on his neck, courtesy of Yixing Chen’s rather defiant nails.

“We’ll look for scarves,” Jin Ju states.

“No scarves,” Luhan dismisses. “Taozi made me help him sew his ugly prince a red sash. Like that’s going to ever help his formless figure,” he scoffs.

“How about new shoes?” The youth asks.

“He barely goes out now,” he pouts.

“How about a new face cloth?” Jin Ju prods. “You should make him one.”

“Oh, please,” he guffaws. “When I make him mine forever, he’s never going to have to wear that chain ever again. He’s beautiful without it.”

“Then wh-”

“A sword,” the youth gently bids. “I looked into his past, and they say that at court, his skill with the sword along with his beauty was enough to make even the most powerful warlord come groveling to his feet. This why the first prince brought him with him to Joseon.”

“No weapons,” Jin Ju dismisses quickly.

“Indeed because his mind is still unstable,” Gu Hyang warns.

“But I want to see the real him” Luhan whispers. “I haven’t seen the real Yixing Che yet, now have I? If they say he can fight… then a blade I shall give him. I want to see him fight, and when I make love to him, I want to see the _real_ him look back at me.”

“You want him to kill you?” Jin Ju snaps.

Luhan raises an eyebrow. “Something you’re not telling me, Jin Ju-nie?”

“That boy tried to save Tao,” she bites back, the lies caking her teeth like dirt cakes the ends of their boots as the truth hovers above it. “He was out of it for thirty seconds, but he managed to stave off blows and save your brother from instant death. But that wasn’t it- there was evil in his eyes. Pure savagery. And he held a broken sword. That was enough to set him into a fit. Imagine what fully capable, perfectly made weapon would do to his state of mind.”

“It could set him off in another ra-”

“It would bring him back,” Luhan deciphers. “It would bring the real Yixing back.”

“Are you sure you want the real Yixing back?” Jin Ju asks, deathly calm.

Luhan finds that he cannot breathe. “ _Yes._ ”

“My advice is for you to tread carefully, for there are many wonders that we all have yet to see, hyung. We barely know of these creatures than what he were able to extract from our nightly outings with them- but what are they really? We do not know, hyung, so it’s imperative that you take precautions.” The brown garbed youth says solemnly.

The others gawk at him, stunned by his honesty.

“I-I will,” he promises.

They then sit in silence- a thick, pensive curtain hanging over them all.

*******

**Yi Fan**

“You’re here,” he breathes. He doesn’t smile, however. He rarely does. Once in a while, his lips will turn up when hands massage the knots out of his shoulders, or when hands hold his own as they watch the night birds flutter about in the dark sky.

But his lover, the man masked and clothed, is stiff. Gone in the languidness in his bones that radiate wanton lust and longing. He’s poised, straight, and absolutely menacing. Gone is the sweetness in his movements when he would swoop right in and caress Yi Fan’s cheeks, murmuring how the daylight was the bane of his existence because he could not come then.

But there’s no sweetness or warmth emanating from the man right now. This should frighten Yi Fan, because normal people prayed to the gods for salvation when demons like him crawled into their living spaces and stared them down, despite being a half a head shorter.

Yi Fan finds himself getting angry instead.

“What’s wrong with you?” He flushes. “Why are you like this?”

The demon blinks but doesn’t soften his figure. “I have come as my lord has asked. Should I have not?”

“Of course not!” He snaps. “Why are you so closed off? Come closer!”

That seems to irk the demon. “My body is the prince’s plaything,” he taunts. “Then so be it.” He nears close enough to see that the once, deep eyes with nothing but love and reverence now house blankness. Nothingness.

_Crack._

His knuckles start to ache, finally prompting him to realize what he’d just done. His eyes widen and he looks to his bloodies knuckles before turning back to the man who’s lips were fervently bleeding, the spokes on the mask embedded in his skin.

“I-”

“No need,” the older man replies listlessly. The man comes close enough and retreats to his knees before bowing his head.

Shaking, he buckles down as well and worryingly reaches for his face. “I-”

But the latter does not speak and leaves his eyes on the floor beneath them as Yi Fan reaches for his chin and pulls it up. He quivers as he immediately picks out the spokes from the marred skin and flings them to the side. He tears off a piece of cloth from his robe and presses it against the mask whole devoid of its spikes.

The demon didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, voice cracking. “I’m sorry.”

Minutes pass as the night grows longer, and Yi Fan sits dutifully in front of the demon- changing the sides of the cloth if it was wet, pressing on tears of skin that wouldn’t clog.

“I will be leaving tomorrow in two nights,” he whispers truthfully. Wu Yi Fan’s cloth slips out of his hand and falls to the floor.

“…what?”

“My mission to protect you will only be accomplished if I can finish this run. So you will have to let me go for the time being, my lord. But I will return when I finish.”

Yi Fan twitches. “How long?”

The demon tenses. “How long has yet to be determined. A few days perhaps, or maybe a few years.”

“What are you planning on doing?” He snaps. “I want to know. I _need_ to know.”

“No, my prince. I cannot. I am yours, but I am a demon. I cannot be human for your sake, lest I wish to put you in even more danger.” He refuses solemnly.

“But no one’s attacked us in over a month! I’ll protect myself, I promise,” he breaks out furiously. “Just tell me what it is you plan to do!”

The demon rises. “I cannot.” He bows. “I will return when I am finished.” He turns to leave.

“ _No.”_

He swerves him around, holding his face firmly in his large hands. “No.” He begins, eyes narrowed and voice cold. “You will not leave me like this. You promised to stay by my side, Ifrit of the Sand. Did you think I’d let you break it so easily? And in a month? You must not know me well enough,” he growls.

“I will never leave your side,” he deadpans. “You are my prince, and I am yours. But in order for you to continue being the prince, I must finish this.” The demon’s eyes flutter closed and Yi Fan breaks. “My humblest apologies.”

“But I love you!” He finds himself screaming. “What if you get hurt!? What if you _die_!? Is your brother going to be there to protect you? Tell me! Is the Snake following you there!?”

“The Emerald Serpent will guard you in my leave of absence. He’s far more capable then I’ll ever be in protecting you.” He admits.

“Then who will protect _you_?” He demands. “Why must you do this alone? Take the other one with you! Or take _me_. I will come. I will fight by your side, but I will _not_ let you go to your death!”

“Quiet, my prince,” the latter soothes. “Otherwise they will hear and I will have to run. Please, just try to unders-”

“I don’t _need_ to understand,” he grits through his teeth. “What I _need_ is for you to stay- here. By my side. You _promised_.”

“But when have I never returned!?” The demon crows, eyes blazing with anger. “I always come back to you! Can you, for once, _just trust me_? Trust me, and I will return. It’ll take whatever time it does, but I will return. I love you. I love you so much, I wouldn’t dare die without seeing your face one more time.” The demon falls to his knees and kisses Yi Fan’s feet as he shakes with rage and agony. “Please… just please.”

“Then go.” He says at last. “Go, but you will return,” he seethes. “Because you’re _mine_. You promised yourself to me, and you’re going to keep it. I’ll make sure you keep it. If you die, so help me, _if you die_ \- I will come after you.”

“I will always come back to you,” he promises. “Because I am yours, and you are mine. I will return.”

He turns around and walks away from the figure groveling at his feet. “Go,” he whispers meekly. There are no tears in his eyes.

“I will return,” the demon swears again.

“Get out,” he deadpans.

“My Pri-”

“ _Get. Out._ ” He repeats in a deadly calm.

He hears feet shuffling and hands moving and something opening and then closing again. It catches him by surprise when he feels arms around his thin waist for a few seconds, before leaving and disappearing behind his back. He looks down.

A deep, dark red stares back at him. He lets a bloodied finger thumb over the material and realizes it’s satin. Pure satin.

“I will return tomorrow night before I depart,” the demon promises. “Please… wear this for me,” he begs.

Yi Fan doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t even whisper goodbye as the demon shuffles out of his quarters and into the night. For hours, he stands in front of his window and caresses the satin tied to his waist, marveling in its softness and wondering if Ifrit’s face would feel the same.

When day breaks, Min Seok gasps to find the man asleep in front of the open window. The sash was gone from his waist and instead bunched closely to his chest as if it were the most precious thing he’s ever possessed.

Yi Fan, in his dreams, realizes it’s as precious as the demon he’s fallen in love with.

*******


	12. Chapter 12

**Dong Soo**

“It would be in your good graces if you refrained from staring at me like that. I’m not your personal spectacle, and you’ve become a little too adventurous these days.”

Yeo Woon appears from the shadows and takes a seat next to the man who stares intently at the stream, clad in his uniform and nothing else.

“You should be by a fire. The snow will begin soon.”

Dong Soo takes a deep breath, wispy fog clouding the air in front of him. “I will.”

It’s not an indignant response, Dong Soo knows. But it hurts the other man. Dong Soo knows his sword will never succeed against him, but his words will have to for the time being.

“Why punish yourself for my mistakes?” He asked softly.

They sit an ample amount of space away from each other, so Dong Soo can’t reach out to throttle him even if he tried. His fingers are near frozen anyway, and a thin sheen of frost has marked itself onto his skin. “I do as I have to,” he breathes shakily, slipping his eyes shut.

He pulls his knees to his chest like he would when he was a child. Then he buries his cold face in his kneecaps and begins dozing off as the cold in the air began to heighten. And Yeo Woon remains silent.

Something drapes him from behind. Had it been a shawl, he’d have snuggled underneath its warmth- staving off his self-imposed punishment just for the shortest time. But instead, they’re arms. Arms wrap around his neck and a warm chest presses against his back in an embrace he’s far too familiar with for his own good. Something tickles the back of his ear, and he hitches his breath, blood freezing in the process.

“If I tell you I love you, will you cease this behavior?” The man asks. “Will you, if I promise to never to return, stop this once and for all?”

Dong Soo doesn’t have coherent words for this. It’s not as if coherency was ever really a matter when it came to this person. This person made a mess of him inside and out.

And all Dong Soo wants is for to hold him tightly.

They remain silent, Dong Soo’s eyes back on the stream and its cold water. The man behind him presses a soft kiss against his neck, and he’s surprised at the amount of warmth the lips contain despite the biting weather.

Dong Soo uses every ounce of his remaining strength from caving to the touches.

“I love you,” Yeo Woon says.

Dong Soo looks blankly at the water. He realizes that he hasn’t actually looked at the man the entire time they’ve been here.

“I love you.”

The arm and the kisses disappear. Warm lips that brought back some semblance of warmth to his chest pull away and remain gone. Dong Soo blinks.

When he turns around, Yeo Woon is gone.

*******

**Zi Tao**

It’s like his chest is about to burst. His hands are clammy despite the cold, and he’s hot and feverish and  _angry_. He hates Wu Yi Fan. He hates his soft lips and softer hair. He hates the way he moves with a dancer’s grace. He hates the way he speaks with authority Zi Tao himself has never been able to muster. He hates everything about him. He hates him.

But he  _doesn’t._ He pulls on his uniform and mask. He can’t. His loins burn and throat swells when he sees him, but now, it’s going to be worse. He’s going to lose the chance to see him entirely. Their frequent meetings won’t be cut short- they will cease for the time being. He half contemplates on stealing him.

But then he sneaks a glance at his brother. He sneaks a glance at the man with the oiled and jeweled braid, and he remembers. He remembers that he has obligations. He has obligations that surpass his love for the prince.

He remembers an instance in their childhood when he scraped his knee. The cut was small so he didn’t think much of it and brushed away the flecks of blood with leaves he randomly chose from the forest floor. He didn’t know until later that the leaves were poisonous and that he’d single-handedly brought himself to death’s door. He’d collapsed near their hut and stayed there until he was found a few hours later.

Huang Luhan’s magic began then. He tracked down the leaves, found their antidote and saved him before he slipped into delirium and forgot his own name. And Zi Tao remembers this because the scar is still with him. Though the original scrape had long faded, Zi Tao wanted to remember that this man was his savior- his brother. So he’d carved into his own flesh the orientation of the leaf that he unintentionally used to poison himself. His first tattoo. His first marker that he owed his life to the man who was currently fawning over one thing or another.

He has a brother he has no intention of forsaking, so Zi Tao gives in. He gives into his duties as a demon and as a man. He tells his beating heart to still, and it does, and glimpses of Wu Yi Fan flutter across his eyelids as he sighs. And then he leaves to visit his love one last time before disappearing back into the recesses of the Underworld.

*******

**Luhan**

The longsword is polished to a shine. Luhan shivers as he lets his hands flit over the flawless blade, feeling its iciness on his fingertips and palms.

Then he leers at the hilt.

“Six emeralds. You’re spoiling him,” Gu Hyang chastises.

“These are  _my_  emeralds,” he flushes, amazed at his own intelligence.

“You plucked them out of your hair,” Gu Hyang deadpans.

Luhan’s eyes crinkle as he smiles. “All the more symbolic.” He swoons. “Imagine this on his swordbelt with the other emerald I gave him. It’ll be pinned to his hair, and then they’ll compliment each other so nicely. He’d look like a king. A beautiful, wonderful, magni-”

“You’re gushing,” Gu Hyang cut in. “Stop gushing, and get out. Earth Lady is already disapproving of this gift.” She purses her lips. “Though it is a wonderful work of art. The swordsmith worked to the best of his ability, it seems.”

“It’s beautiful, but not as beautiful as him,” he coos, a broken smile and silky lips coming to mind. He thumbs the emerald embedded over the thick, black marble. They shine in the dim light, like little beads of light.

“Be careful,” she warns as he places the weapon carefully back in its scabbard, which he promptly wraps around his waist.

“Of course.” He fixes his collar and straightens the pins and jewels in his hair before pulling on his mask. “I’ll be late coming back,” he informs.

Gu Hyang sighs. “As long as you come back in one piece.”

He flashes her a brilliant smile before disappearing into the night.

*******

**Zi Tao**

When Zi Tao reaches the compound, the deathly cold has fully set in. It’s the type of temperature that nips at the blood vessels and works its way into lungs and hearts. It slowly, deliberately, eats away at the source of the living creature. Skin becomes numb and frost begins to coat the victim’s flesh.

Zi Tao doesn’t mind. He thinks it’s actually a fitting punishment, taking into account all the sins he’d participated in throughout his life. Maybe he could spend the night staring longingly at the structure before slipping away with dawn. He should allow himself to feel the ghost pain. His appendages are already frozen from their own lack of blood circulation, but now he thinks about how effective it would be if he remained the way he was and allowed the cold to fully seep into his bones. That should be able to befit his sins.

But Wu Yi Fan knows. Yi Fan knows he’s there before he even realizes he’s outside the compound. Yi Fan knows, so he waves him over by reaching a pale hand through the slit in his room that stands as a window. Zi Tao blinks, and follows the gesture dutifully, like always.

When he slips in, he’s taken aback by the scene.

The room, albeit small, is dressed as a small room in the palace would be. The wooden flooring is soft underneath his booth, and he looks down to see carpets popular in the desert that gave him his namesake. There’s a small mat of silk and satin housing two cushions in the middle. Yi Fan’s bedding is pushed to the side, dressed in satin the color of his mask. There’s a small basket near the cushions and mat, and Zi Tao catches the scent of rose oil.

Calloused fingers thread their way into Zi Tao’s, and he turns to stare at the man who’s prepared this. And when Zi Tao looks to him, he forgets to breath.

He’s dressed in pastel white and light blue robes, traditional in the empricial sense. His long and downy hair is fixed near the top of his head in a topknot, royal pins holding the hair in place. The ink-like tresses cascade down his shoulders and back like fine, black silk, and Zi Tao finds himself aching to touch.

There’s a smile on Yi Fan’s face, and Zi Tao wants to cry. Yi Fan barely smiles. No, Yi Fan doesn’t smile. Yi Fan grimaces. Yi Fan crinkles his nose and calls useless people useless. Yi Fan caters to no one but to himself and those he cares about. Yi Fan isn’t obligated to become a subject of divine beauty for him. His prince is is his own man.

Yet Yi Fan smiles for him. His white and blue robes are accented by the blood red color of the sash he’d given him. And Yi Fan looks like a true prince- the prince he swore to protect and love.

So Zi Tao, weak in knees and heart, let the prince lead him like he was meant to.

*******

**Yi Fan**

He isn’t happy with the arrangements like he should be. It didn’t take as long as he’d liked, and he had to feign sickness in order to get all the items and prepare the place before the maids could catch on.

But it had worked. The demon’s eyes had widened, then narrowed, then softened. Yi Fan had done it. Mediocre carpets he’d taken hours to dust, satin and silk he had to steal from others, food he had to sit down and make himself because the maids were as mediocre in their cleaning as they were in their cooking. And when all was said and done, Yi Fan took out his best robes and dressed himself before combing the full length of his hair and tying it in a royal knot.

He smiles. He didn’t like smiling, but he would smile for him.

He leads the complacent man to the silken mat and sits him down on one of the cushions before sitting down himself. They sit on their heels, their backs straight and their eyes intent. But Yi Fan smiles. It’s either that, or tears.

He opens the box and pulls out a tray of cakes he’s made from scratch. They are cooked as well as can be with the items he had on hand. The wheat is burnt in some places due to the lack of oil, and some of the buns have a little too much sugar in places. Yi Fan sets the tray between them.

“Eat,” he says. The amethyst demon stills. Yi Fan raises an eyebrow. “Is there something wrong?” Suddenly, he’s aware of how pathetic he looks in front of him.

It shakes his head. “They’re much too beautiful for something like me to touch,” it whispers sincerely.

Yi Fan bites back the comment in his throat and instead takes a cake. He leads it to the masked demon’s mouth. “Eat,” he demands, and it comes out harsher than intended. The demon stays silent for a few seconds before opening its mouth and plaintively taking a bite from the delicacy.

Yi Fan waits for him to finish the first bite, watching as the demon slowly chews his way through the wheat, dough, and sweet filling. Then he takes another bite, and Yi Fan’s heart swells. Then another, and then another until the entirety of the cake is gone from his hand, leaving nothing but powered sugar on his fingertips.

Yi Fan urges him to eat another, but the demon shakes its head. Instead, it beckons the tray towards Yi Fan until he relents and takes a bit of his own food.

After they eat the cakes and drink the mulled wine Yi Fan brings in from the corner, Yi Fan’s fingers clutch a a cloth and that begins to wipe the crumbs away from the demon’s mouth. The demon, in return, presses a cold thumb against Yi Fan’s cheek, causing him to shiver.

“You’re beautiful,” Yi Fan hears him murmur as they sit in front of each other after cleaning up and moving to the bed. Their hands are tangled together and Yi Fan periodically brings the demon’s perpetually frozen fingers to his cheeks, opting to feel the shiver again and again.

“You promised you’d return,” Yi Fan recounts. “Is this true?”

Suddenly, the demon’s grasp tightens. “I’d rather die than break my promise to you,” he flushes, and Yi Fan wants to tell him that dying is the  _only_  thing that can make him break his promise. He wants to tell him that death is not an option- that even if he does die, Yi Fan will find a way to bring him back. And he knew he would.

Yi Fan comes closer, allowing their knees to press snugly against each other. “Do you love me?”

Yi Fan leads the demon’s hands from his lap to his waist. He urges the fingers to untie the sash. The demon complies.

“Yes,” he hears it whisper as shaky fingers undo the cloth and splay the redness against his thighs. Yi Fan then lets go of the demon’s hand and begins to fold the cloth. Once, twice, three times until it reaches a desired width. Yi Fan delicately collects the fabric into his hands, all the while aware of the demon’s narrowed eyes.

Yi Fan takes a deep breath before placing the sash over his eyes. With easy, sharp strokes, he ties the red cloth as securely as possible. When he finishes, it completely obscures his vision.

“My pri-“

“Do you love me?” he snaps, his voice breaking. He feels the demon cave. He feels himself cave and allows his own shaky hands grasp the demon’s.

“Yes,” he repeats, its tone a cross between a wail and a hiss.

Yi Fan is too close now- so close that his chest is pressing against the demon’s and his hands are blindly attempting to hold him close. His desperate fingers tug at the mask as something begins to ache below. The demon lets out a noncommittal grunt, and that’s enough for Yi Fan who inches just a little bit closer. The demon hisses. He whines.

“Then show me.”

*******

**Luhan**

He doesn’t want to know what his brother and the ugly prince are up to, but that still doen’t stop him from giggling when he thinks he smells a hint of rose oil.

“Naughty, naughty~”

He flits past the prince’s room and hears sounds only his past lovers have made, and it takes him a second to realize that the ugly prince is on the verge of stealing his brother’s virginity  It takes all his self-composure to stop himself from tearing Taozi away from the ugly prince and leading him into a brothel with prettier subjects. Who also happened to be nicer. And so, so much more prettier than the downcast prince.

Luhan chooses to judge the younger demon instead, and leaves before their sounds can further destroy his innocence.

He skips over to his darling’s compound with a vibrant smile, the small structure facing towards the forest thus providing ample hiding space. He pulls off the mask in the shadows and fixes his braid and collar before emerging. He slowly slides the door open and slips in in, only to be met with emptiness. Luhan blinks. He looks to the side and sees nothing. He looks up at the beams in the ceiling and is met with nothing but cobwebs and dust. Suddenly, Luhan is afraid.

He pulls on his mask before leaving the structure. He has half a mind to search every other building, but he knows that Yixing’s too smart to go crawl into another’s living space. And far too insane. Luhan feels his chest begin to ache. He whips his head towards the cold, deadening forest. Pursing his lips and tightening his swordbelt around his waist, he begins to flit through the shadows to find him.

He treads carefully  choosing the trees that would rustle the slowest and the leaves that wouldn’t crunch the loudest. He catches glimpse of the warrior, huddled in front of the cold stream, flecks of ice coating his nose and his hair. It’s as if he’s hoping for a god of the river to engulf him in its watery embrace and steal him away from his pain. Had Luhan cared about his wellbeing, he’d have told him to go home and sit in front of a fire. But then he remembers that Yeo Woon had bled too many nights for Luhan to choose the warrior over him, and so Luhan moves on, convinced that maybe their lives would be better if the warrior disappeared forever.

He passes a series of other streams and small ducts of water until he finally reaches a waterfall. Dead trees and withering leaves surround the frozen oasis, and Luhan is just about ready to turn back until he notices a familiar robe.

Red with shades of orange and dark pink. The hem and bottom of the robes are dirtied, as if the wearer had struggled through its journey to the waterfall. And no doubt. There’s blood, too, and Luhan thinks that it’s an auspicious night for him to steal from the Qing empire and the kingdom of Joseon. He should, he thinks, because then this man will never bleed, nor will he cry, nor will he want for anything as long as he is Luhan’s. And it angers Luhan to think that those useless beings littered in the safehouse have forgotten about this creature- this beautiful creature that could disappear at any given moment.

Luhan wants to hurt someone, but he knows deep down that no one deserves a bigger punishment than himself.

When he reaches out to the man sitting in front of the waterfall, he doesn’t turn around. Then he squeezes his shoulder, and there’s still no response. Luhan bites his bottom lip and let a shaky hand caress the man’s soft, black hair.

“”I want to be alone,” he says. “You shouldn’t bother me when I’m trying to be alone.”

Luhan brings about a pained smile. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispers softly. He lets his fingers untangle the cold hair, pulling away dry twigs and leaves from the dirt-ridden locks. “If you wanted to be alone, I would have taken you some place nicer.”

"This is nice,” he replies.

Luhan wants to turn him around and tell him that this is nothing compared to all the beautiful places he’s been. He wants to tell him that there are places in the world that would appreciate his beauty more than his wretched family did. Where Luhan would take him, he’d never have to be sad ever again. And he could stare, for as long as he wanted, at the waterfalls and the snowy caps and the deserts or the rising sun. And Luhan would be there every step of the way.

But instead, Luhan grabs on to him from behind, and finds himself burying his head in the crook of his neck. Yixing squirms.

“I want to be alone,” he whines. “Why can’t I be alone?”

“Because I can’t trust you to be alone,” Luhan harrumphs. “Plus, I’m very clingy,” he admits. “And you’re cute, so shut up and let me take you home.”

Luhan expects to win the argument and carry the man back home, but for some reason, he relents-  _harshly_.

Luhan feels an elbow dig into his chest, and he shies away, rubbing the sore spot.

“Go away!” He hears the latter say, who huddles closer towards himself, refusing to look Luhan in the eyes. Luhan is flabbergasted. If this is how things were to progress later, however the hell would he manage to drug him and whisk him away later in the night?

“Well, excuse you,” he ends up snapping. He finds that he’s a little angry that the man is still in his rut. It irks him to think that he’s going to probably have to deal with this behavior the following morning. “You can freeze to death here,” he barks.

He pretends to shuffle away, but ends up housing himself on top of a tree for the time being. He sits, expecting the man to turn around and call out for him like he usually did after their petty fights, but tonight is different. He sits silently in front of the rushing water for jut a little longer until he lies down on his side, cushioning his head on top of his hands. Luhan gasps and rushes down before he can actually freeze to death.

“You idiot!” He screeches, gathering the man in his arms and pulling him close. He finds that his face is wet and that he’s shaking and warm to the touch. Luhan pulls his head against his chest and tightens his grasp. Yixing doesn’t make a sound.

When he stops shaking and caves into Luhan’s warmth, Luhan sighs deeply. “You’re a hassle,” he grumbles, poking his nose. Yixing squirms but still doesn’t say anything. Luhan tries another insult, but the man remains quiet in his arms, and Luhan thinks it’s his fault.

It usually is, he muses. But he hopes things can change these coming days- these coming years.

“I have something for you,” he tries, and that seems to get Yixing’s interest just a little bit. “It’s something you’ll like,” Luhan continues excitedly. “It’s pretty, like you, but not  _as_  pretty because nothing’s prettier than you.”

Yixing lets out a noncommittal grunt as Luhan sits him down. He begins to finger the hem of his robe as Luhan pulls out the scabbard and places in front of the younger man. Yixing’s engrossed with the bloodied hem for quite some time until Luhan prods him with a finger. Yixing blinks and looks up to him before looking down to the sword.

“It’s for you.”

The rush of the waterfall sends Luhan into a daze as Yixing takes some time to stare at the covered work of art. After a while, he pulls the thing onto his lap and begins to slide the weapon out with ease. Once it’s fully unsheathed, it stands tall and proud in Yixing’s dirtied and bloodied fingers. The clean blade glints off the moonlight that sheds an unearthly aura over them. Luhan claps excitedly as Yixing stares intently at the naked blade for just a little longer.

“it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he coos.”It would look beautiful on your hip,” he gushes, “and when you move around, it will compliment your stance and your looks a-“

When Luhan’s back hits the ground, stones and dirt digging into his perfectly clean clothes, he gasps. But the short burst of pain isn’t what shocks him and causes his mouth to drop and his eyes to freeze in fear- it’s who’s on top of him.

It’s the person who bears the tip of the blade near his jugular. Luhan’s fingers dig into the filth below as he begins to breathe again. Eyes shining with storm clouds and hatred, they look down on his frightened brown ones. And suddenly he’s aware of the Earth Lord’s warning.

Suddenly, he’s aware of Yixing Chen’s past.

*******

**Zi Tao**

He lets his hand fleet over the crisp clean robes, kneading the flesh beneath, helping elicit moans from the younger man. Zi Tao shudders and feels the ache in his loins return- the same ache he’s had to handle surreptitiously behind closed doors where no one could judge him of his shame. The prince’s hands work more frantically about his body, but Zi Tao ceases to care. All he can feel is the hum in his chest and burning sensation in his lower stomach. 

So when the jittery fingers reach for the straps of his mask, he complies, and almost instantly, the cloth and sharp spokes come off. 

Zi Tao tosses the thing to the side and watches as the prince brings his worn fingertips to his face, his vision obscured by the deep red sash. Zi Tao nuzzles one of his hands, feeling their warmth as the tips move about and caress his cheeks and bruised lips. Thumbs press against the shape of his eyebrows, fingers fleet against his eyebags that give off the notion that he’s never slept a night in his life. His chin, his cheeks, his forehead, his nose. And then, finally, his hair. The prince gasps at the feeling, and Zi Tao’s just a tiny bit proud of himself for washing his hair daily and having it brushed by his brother. The prince seems to agree. 

"You’re beautiful," he whispers, and Zi Tao has to chuckle. 

"I’m not," he admits shyly.

The prince shakes his head vehemently. “You’re beautiful. Your eyes… they’re so heavy. Do you have trouble sleeping?"

Zi Tao smiles, snuggling the hands closer to his face, feeling the kindness in their touch. “No," he chuckles. “They’re natural."

"There’s khol underneath them," the prince whispers. “Do you look like the enigma I picture you as?"

Zi Tao blinks. “I’m not sure."

Yi Fan understands and simply returns to caressing his cheeks again. Zi Tao purrs contently against the warm skin and the smell of sugar and wine only makes him dizzier with content. 

But then he feels the prince’s lips on his ear, nibbling the soft flesh. Then the hands are gone from his cheeks and he watches as they travel to his coat and begin urging the binds to unfasten. Zi Tao goes to help, only to stop himself. 

He realizes he wants to do the same thing for him. 

Their lips meet for a long and languid kiss. Yi Fan moans into his mouth as Zi Tao begins to undo the strings of his robe. Zi Tao feels his coat slip away while he pushes off the first half of the robe. They break away and Zi Tao instantly latches his lips onto his shoulder as he works to remove the rest of his clothing. 

The prince struggles for some time, due to the lack sight. He pulls rather ruthlessly at the hem of his pants at one point when a knot forms in the string. Zi Tao chuckles and helps undo it before returning to the crown on his hair. Once he finishes, a deep shade of dark black cascades over the prince’s naked shoulders and Zi Tao blushes deeply when he realizes he’s fully naked when the prince is not. 

Zi Tao looks down on his limbs. Thin, bony in some parts, but strong and muscled in others. He’s not so endearing to the eye when he’s devoid clothes as he is when he’s wearing the best silk and the darkest khol. He’s scratching his ears in shame when the prince’s hand tugs for him to undo his trousers. 

Zi Tao gulps. 

"You’ve never done this before, have you?" The prince concludes. 

"Never, my lord," he admits. 

The prince sits silently, the awkwardness of the situation permeating the room as Zi Tao began to place articles of clothing over his more sensitive bits. 

"Neither have I," the prince says. 

And Zi Tao gawks. 

"Don’t be afraid," he soothes. “We can… learn from each other. Would that be fine?"

Zi Tao bites his lip. He’d never been to a brothel on purpose. He’d never pursued another being before with these things in mind. All he knew was that something below throbbed for attention and that the man in front of him was the reason behind it. 

"I-I don’t want to-"

"-you won’t hurt me," the prince cuts him off. “So as long as we listen to each other, nothing can hurt us."

Zi Tao looks upon this man with awe. Only other assassins have ever trusted him with anything more than a pebble. But this man- this  _prince_ -trusts him with his body, with his soul. Zi Tao, for the first time in a long time, feels at ease. And he knows there will be pain, but there won’t be any regret because he intends to make this count. 

And Zi Tao loves this man, so there isn’t much he isn’t willing to do for him. 

He lets his hands travel to the taller man’s stomach and gently rub circles onto it. Yi Fan lets out a small laugh. 

"What are you doing?"

Zi Tao blushes. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but all he does know is that he has all intentions of making this feel the best it can. So he continues to massage his stomach, his hips, his back. 

"Kiss me," the prince asks. So Zi Tao kisses him.

It’s not as hungry as it should be, and that’s OK with Zi Tao. He wants to taste him and hold him and love him. As long as there is something, then there is everything. And Yi Fan is slowly becoming more than just everything to Zi Tao. 

He finally lets his hand travel to the waistband of the trousers and begins to undo the clasps as Yi Fan sucks on a small patch of skin on his throat. He shudders when the taller man bites the flesh as swiftly and cunningly as possible, marking him in the process. 

Zi Tao grins as he helps the man slip out of the fabric before pushing away all the stray articles of clothes and laying him down on the bed beneath. 

"Do you trust me?" The prince asks.

"Of course," he answers. “I trust you with my life."

"Then let me guide you," he says. “I’ve… studied this."

Zi Tao feels his cheeks burn. “O-of course."

Zi Tao finds himself sitting next to the laying prince in silence. He looks down at himself again, and ignores the glaring organ in favor of all the other things. He spies his self-made tattoo. The leaf looks as crudely drawn now as it did the day he carved it. Then he spies other cuts and scratches and a myriad of other lesions that refused to fade away with the years. Zi Tao, all of a sudden, is thankful the prince is blinded. That way, he cannot see his imperfections. That way, he cannot judge him. 

"I love you," the prince mutters. “Will you love me too?"

"Yes," he finds himself saying. “Yes."

He sees the man blindly reaching for something and realizes it’s under the bed itself. He fishes around and finds a small bottle of oil and tentatively hands it to him. The prince nods and gently raises his legs and Zi Tao is once again aware of their nudity and it doesn’t do well for his cheeks, which he thinks will burst momentarily. 

But he situates himself in between the man’s legs anyway and waits for instructions. His first job is to grab a cushion and put it underneath the taller man’s hips, and Zi Tao does that with careful ease. Then he’s asked to hoist the legs over his shoulders, and he does so as well, but not without burning up and praying to the gods that he’s as competent at pleasuring someone as he is in making them suffer. The analogy stabs at his chest and he almost facepalms until realizes that the prince is still talking and that he needs to pay attention. 

He brings down shaky fingers into the bottle and coats them as generously as possible before allowing the prince to guide them towards his entrance. He quivers at his own rigidness that’s throbbing for attention. He bites his lip when he feels a digit probe something he didn’t think he’d ever have to touch. 

But that’s nothing compared to the sound of utter pain the prince emits, and Zi Tao finds himself rambling soothing words and other lies to keep the man from hurting. He readies himself to tell the prince to stop, but caves when the man elicits a moan and Zi Tao feels his fingers push deeper and deeper inside.

It brushes against something, causing the prince to arc his back dangerously. 

_"More."_

And Zi Tao complies. He adds a second, and then a third until he’s gently stretching the harsh muscles into accepting his advances. The prince mewls and grunts in the process, and Zi Tao finds himself drinking in the younger man’s expressions as he’s pressing pleasure up his spine.

When he finally finishes, he prepares and adjusts himself between quivering thighs and needy moans. He lets the man guide him in, and when he’s fully sheathed inside, he sees stars.

*******

**Luhan**

He doesn’t know why, but he ends up slipping his eyes closed and letting his hands cease digging into the ground. He lets his mind wander to his brother’s pouting face and his tumultuous affections for the ugly prince. He recalls how quiet the Sky Lord becomes whenever the warrior comea into question. He recalls Jin Ju’s face when she sees the older man drown himself in sake and write poems of longing and loathing in his book. Luhan remembers his family back in the castle, deep in the forests that border near the water.

And Luhan remembers his promises- promises he’d kept to others beside the man he calls his lover. He remembers Gu Hyang and her silent beauty and love for the Sky Lord. He remembers the brown garbed youth and his perseverance towards the dark arts. 

But suddenly, he feels a warm cheek press against his chest and he takes a deep breath as bony arms wrap around his neck. Luhan lets his eyes flutter open and allows his gaze to fix itself amongst the skies. The moon. The low clouds that wisp and whirl in front of him as Yixing Chen begins to doze off on his chest. His breaths come in shudders as he feels the fear recede from his chest and dissipate. The wetness in his eyes fades away, and he finds himself blinking in astonishment. 

The sword lays strewn next to them. He shakily places the man on the ground before sheathing the blade and tying it to the nobleman’s waist. His blade- not Luhan’s. Then he hoists him onto his back and takes him back home.

His home- the safehouse. Not Luhan’s home, where the others are still waiting for him to return in one piece.

*******

**Zi Tao**

Slow movements turn into frantic pushing, and Zi Tao finds himself on the edge of passing out from sheer pleasure. Sweat stings his eyes and his vision blurs. One hand grips and pulls the waist towards his thrusts with fervor as the other finds its way underneath the prince’s shoulder while his lips latch on to his neck. Yi Fan pleasures himself in response and guides him deeper inside with other hand. He arches his back at a particularly heavy thrust. Zi Tao groans.

He picks up his head and looks at the man babbling nonsense and crowing for more.  He feels the surge in his stomach tighten and finally release. He quivers as the man beneath him gives one last gasp before climaxing on their stomach and chest, and they still for a seconds before Zi Tao slips out as patiently as possible and collapses next to him.

Zi Tao finds himself placing his head on his chest, breathing in his scent. Yi Fan murmurs in content.

“I didn’t think it would be so nice.” The prince admits.

“I didn’t think this type of pleasure existed,” Zi Tao agrees. “It’s surreal.”

“But nice. And I’m honored that I was your first.”

“And you, mine.”

Yi Fan lets his hand ghost over Zi Tao’s pale skin before it reaches his manhood. He gives it a gentle squeeze, earning a smirk from the demon who replies with a fondle of his own. It’s not long before they’re both groaning and shaking against each other’s touch once more.

Zi Tao pushes him back onto the bed and flips him over, pressing kisses up his spine before latching onto his ear and kneading the flesh on his bum.

“Demon,” the prince hisses, pushing against the prodding organ behind him.

Zi Tao grins, the curvature of his lips ghosting over the prince’s outer ear. “Only yours."

And then they succumb. 

*******

**Chapter Epilogue**

Zi Tao returns in the morning, just a little after dawn. He’s surprised when he receives knowing looks and nudges instead of glares and scoldings. They know, he comes to understand, but like them, he’s not even mad. 

He sees his brother working intently on another salve in the cookhouse and instantly goes over and plops down next to him to tell him of how they’d finally become one. He’s not as excited to hear his words as he thought he would be, but Zi Tao brushes it off, thinking it’s better if he’s occupied with his own thoughts instead of Zi Tao’s because he’s leaving soon. And when he leaves, he’ll be leaving for good. 

No one talks about how closed off Luhan becomes that day, and that he brushes off lunch and dinner in order to work on his art, his qiang only an arm’s length away. And that’s good because later on in the evening, the two making their departure gives hugs and words of encouragement before slipping away into the night and towards their ship. 

But Yeo Woon, being the weak one, snakes one last glance at his warrior before slipping away.

And Zi Tao, being even weaker, cannot leave without a glimpse of his older brother one last time, and so he too snakes a glance before being pulled away. 

They leave with the night, and brush shoulders with the ship that holds the envoys. 

And everything falls still.


End file.
